


A Deduction of the Human Conscience

by FaustusianSutcliff



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Attempted Sexual Assault, College AU, Dorks in Love, Drug Use, First Dates, Insecure John, Insecure Sherlock, Jealous John, Jealous Sherlock, Lots of Sex, M/M, Praise Kink, Professor Sherlock, Protective John, Protective Sherlock, Secret Relationship, Semi Slow Burn, Student John, Switching, Top John, Top Sherlock, drunk hooks up, irene and sherlock are not really together, john needs love, mycroft is an asshole, sherlock had a prior relationship with a student, sherlock needs love, sherlock's kinda a dick but when isn't he
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-16
Updated: 2018-07-07
Packaged: 2019-04-23 19:55:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 22,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14339802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FaustusianSutcliff/pseuds/FaustusianSutcliff
Summary: A Johnlock College AU in which John and Sherlock meet for the first time in a nightclub, and again for a second time in the classroom.(Full Summary Inside)6/17/18 New Chapter coming soon!





	1. Holmes and Watson

**Author's Note:**

> Sherlock Holmes, having resigned from his lucrative position as a professor at a well-respected university due to minor complications, i.e was caught having a relationship with one of his students and buying drugs from said student, and was then blackmailed, is forced to take a job at a local college until the water smoothes over. 
> 
> John Watson, attending college on rugby scholarship as a pre-med student happens to meet one Sherlock Holmes, though they don't exchange last names, and have fantastic sex. Following a very awkward morning after, and feeling very foolish tries John tries to forget the man. 
> 
> Three days later. They meet again in Philosophy 120 - A Deduction of the Human Conscience.

“You look bored.”

Sherlock glanced over at the man that’d come to sit next to him almost twenty minutes ago. He had to lean in close to be heard over the pulsing beats of the music. He smelled clean, with the unmistakable scent of aftershave and lavender.

“What makes you think I’m bored?” Sherlock asked. He leaned in even closer, head bent towards the other man’s ear.

Not lavender. Tea. Earl Grey.

“You haven’t moved from that seat since you came in nearly an hour ago,” the man replied. He sounded amused.

“Were you watching me?” Sherlock raised an eyebrow as he sought the man’s gaze.

“So what if I was?” the man replied.

“What makes you think I’m interested?” Sherlock asked.

“If you weren’t interested you would’ve told me to fuck off,” the man replied. He smiled amused. “But you haven’t.”

“Yet.” Sherlock quipped.

“You wanna dance?” he asked. “Song’s shit, but it’s better than sitting here.” He stood up and, without waiting to see if Sherlock would follow, and started walking towards the throng of bodies on the floor.

The music was shit: some mainstream song that was currently taking the city and riding it for all it was worth before it was forgotten about.

Sherlock tossed back his drink and got up to follow. The young man was shorter than he was, head stopping just below his chin. Blond hair and blue eyes. He had on a blue and black flannel with black jeans. A further assessment revealed an athletic physique which made the flannel stretch across his shoulders.

“So you _are_ interested,” he smirked playfully as Sherlock joined him.

“I never said that,” Sherlock scoffed.

“Then why are you here?” he asked.

“This song is shit,” Sherlock said instead.

“Told you,” the man replied.

“Why do you want to dance then?” Sherlock frowned.

“Because that’s what normal people do,” he answered. Another amused smile crossed his face. He stepped closer and wrapped his arms around Sherlock’s neck, his fingers periodically brushed the nape of his neck. “You don’t get out much do you?”

“I don’t come out to these clubs much,” Sherlock answered. His hands found the man’s hips and fingers slipped under the flannel to brush warm skin. “I broke up with my girlfriend.”

“I’m sorry,” the man smiled more.

“You’re lying,” Sherlock’s lips twitched in a smile.

“Course I’m lying, her loss is my gain. You’re bloody gorgeous,” he chuckled. “What’s your name?”

“Why?” Sherlock asked.

“I can’t very well call you gorgeous now can I?” he teased.

“Sherlock,” he told him.

“No last name?” he asked.

“Does it matter?”

“I’m John.”

“John.”

Sherlock let the name roll off his tongue. “Would you like to come back to my place, John? I promise I’ve got better music.”

“Lead the way.”

Sherlock reluctantly pulled away and took John’s hand in his. With a quick stop to grab their coats, they stumbled out into the night air. He flagged down a cab and rattled off his address. His breath caught in his throat as John reached down and squeezed him through his pants.

“Bit indecent don’t you think?” Sherlock groaned.

“You like it,” John smirked and pressed a wet kiss to the nape of his neck.

Sherlock bucked up into his hand and dug his fingers into John’s hair. The cab ride was much too short, to Sherlock’s disappointment and the cabbie’s relief. He shoved the money into the man’s hand and the two stumbled out of the cab and onto the sidewalk.

“Nice place,” John managed.

“Tour?” Sherlock asked as he led him inside and upstairs. “Living room, sitting room, office, kitchen, bathroom, and bedroom.”

He practically shoved John onto the bed and climbed on top of him. He was muscular but small underneath Sherlock. Hands on either side of his head, he admired how John’s lips were swollen and red.

“I seem to recall you had better music?” John panted.

Sherlock sat up on his knees and picked up the remote to the stereo on the nightstand pressed play. Habanera from Carmen began filling the air and Sherlock tossed the remote to the side, barely hearing it clatter against the floor.

* * *

 

John squeezed his eyes shut and turned his head away at the feeling of warm sun on his face. The arm around his waist tightened and tried to pull him in closer than he already was.

“Good morning…” the voice was thick with sleep and caressed John’s skin like velvet.

“Mmm,” John made a noise of agreement and opened his eyes to take in the face of his bedmate.

“Good morning indeed, gentleman.”

John sat up or tried to. It seemed his bedmate-- _Sherlock_ his tired mind supplied--was against the idea of letting him go at the present moment. It was with a reluctant huff that Sherlock moved his arm and allowed John to sit up.

The woman standing at the end of the bed was dressed in a short black dress with her hair pulled up in a bun. A string of white pearls was worn close to her throat and red lips in a thin line, though her eyes were filled with amusement.

“How did you get in here?” Sherlock remained sprawled on his back with one arm tucked under his head. The other still lay behind John and his fingers were drawing patterns on his skin that made John want to squirm.

“I have a key,” she answered. “You said you were going out for drinks.”

“I did.”

John could practically feel the man smirking behind his back.

“It was an excellent drink.”

“I assume these are yours then?” the woman held up his red briefs with one perfectly manicured finger and smirked.

John swallowed as his cheek flushed a deep scarlet and nodded. “Yes...if I could just have them I will get out of your hair…”

“Nonsense, Irene was just leaving,” Sherlock dropped his hands lower and John gripped the sheets tighter. “Weren’t you?”

She dropped the briefs onto the bed and started to walk towards the open bedroom door. “You’re no fun, darling.”

“Door,” was Sherlock’s response and it shut after her with a soft click.

“Who the hell was that?” John turned to look at Sherlock.

“My girlfriend,” Sherlock answered.

He started to tug John back down but John pulled his arm free.

“Your girlfriend?” he practically hissed. “You said you broke up.”

“Fine. Ex-girlfriend then,” Sherlock shrugged. “What does it matter?”

“What does it matter?” John repeated. “You have a girlfriend! You just cheated on your girlfriend and she bloody caught us.”

“Ex-girlfriend, John,” Sherlock reminded.

He let John get out of bed and rolled over onto his stomach. “We haven’t had sex in ages.”

“That’s not the point,” John grabbed his briefs and pulled them, with more force than was probably necessary.

He found his jeans on the floor next to the closet and his shirt tossed over a lamp. His shoes were next to the bedroom door and his socks, he gave up after only two seconds of searching, he could buy more.

“I think you’re overreacting,” Sherlock finally said. “Come back to bed and we can talk about it.”

“No. There’s nothing to talk about,” John shook his head. “Don’t get me wrong, you were fantastic but I don’t make it a habit of sleeping with people in a relationship.”

“We’re not together,” Sherlock said.

“You don’t seem too sure about that,” John pointed out.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and stood up. John averted his gaze as the man walked to the bathroom and stepped out a couple seconds later in a light blue dressing gown. He walked up to John and John took a step back. Sherlock smirked and took another step forward causing John to a step back. This process repeated until John was backed up against the wall. He leaned in as if he was going to kiss him, smiled innocently and proceeded to open the bedroom door.

“I believe your jacket was lost somewhere in the sitting room,” Sherlock mused.

John swallowed thickly. “Right…”

The woman, Irene, was sitting on the couch, with one leg crossed over the other looking at her phone. She was also sitting on John’s jacket.

John awkwardly shuffled over. “Eh...If I could just have my jacket please...I’ll be out of your hair.”

“So soon?” She stood up and walked over to where Sherlock had sprawled in a chair. She brushed a few curls away from the man’s face.

“Be a dear and tell John we’re not together,” Sherlock said. He swatted at her hand and she rolled her eyes.

“Right…” John grabbed his coat and tore his gaze away from the two figures. “I’ll just be going…”

He made a hasty exit and shut the front door behind him firmly. He should’ve known the man was with someone. No one that gorgeous was alone. And he’d been stupid enough to fall for those charms.  He caught a taxi back to the dorms and sank down into the seat with his heels pressed against his eyes.

“Way to go, Watson.”

* * *

 

John sighed as he sat down in his chair and reached up to rub his shoulder. Coulson was going to pay for that move in practice. He leaned back in the seat and glanced at the time on his phone.

There was still three minutes until the class was supposed to start and the room was decently filled. Philosophy wasn’t exactly a class he’d been planning on taking, but he’d heard it was an easy A and he needed something to balance all of his biology and chemistry classes.

John couldn’t help but also notice the class was filled with some attractive young women.

Though his mind wandered back to a few nights previous and Sherlock. Despite how much he tried to forget about him, he kept popping up in the back of his mind. He was still pissed that’d he’d been lied to, disappointed in himself for falling for it, and horrified that the man’s girlfriend had seen them no less. In their _bed_.

But, there was just something about the man..the air of sophistication he seemed to carry about him, the pale skin, and high cheekbones...Curls that were just as soft as John knew they’d be. And his eyes...

John had spotted him the second he’d entered the club. He’d come in alone, cheeks flushed from the cold air outside, curls ruffled from the wind. But his eyes. His eyes had a wildfire in them.

He was clearly on something, John had summarized. He didn’t know what. But the man was high. And maybe that was the reason John had found himself approaching the man.

“Good evening.”

The smooth voice that cut through the air was enough to send a shiver down John’s spine and his head snapped up. No.

At the front of the room stood Sherlock. He cut a nice figure in a black suit with a deep purple undershirt, the first button’s popped open to show the pale skin. If John squinted he could still the bruise from where his teeth had left a nice sized mark. Maybe he’d get lucky and the man wouldn’t notice him.

“No, I’m not Dr. Nozik. He has been dismissed on grounds I am not permitted to share with you, but they are grounds on which I will not be making the same mistake,” his eyes landed on John as he finished the sentence. His expression was unreadable as he looked at him. There was a brief pause before he turned on his heel and stalked to the board.

“My name is Sherlock Holmes. You may address me as Professor Holmes and only Professor Holmes. Not Holmes, not Mr. Holmes, and not Sherlock,” he wrote the title on the board with a quick flourish, “and for those of you who grew up hearing ‘there is no such thing as a stupid question’,” the click of the cap on the pen sounded like a bang as he turned to face the class again, “that’s wrong. There are such things as a stupid question and I will tell you so. Any questions?”

No one raised their hand and he smiled. “Excellent. Let’s start with the syllabus.” He pulled a stack of papers out of his briefcase and dropped them on the desk of some poor man at the front of the classroom. “As you can see, I’ve made a few changes. Unlike Dr. Nozik, I will not accept anything half-assed. Most of you are completely capable of writing complete thoughts and I expect as such.”

John took one of the small stapled stacks of paper and quickly scanned the front page.

_**A Deduction of the Human**   **Conscience**_

was written across the top in bold lettering. Followed by a list of books for the course as well as a mini summary of the assignments.

“As you can see on the third page, I’ve listed each assignment you’ll be working on both in class and outside of class. Each assignment has a word count and word limit. If you hand a physical copy of your paper to me, I will not read it. Electronic copies only.”

John’s lips twitched amused.

**_ELECTRONIC COPIES ONLY_ **

was written in red capitals, underlined and circled.

“Yes?”

John looked up to see a young woman to the left of him had raised her hand. The man’s face was blank, but the look in his eyes suggested he knew the following question was likely to be stupid.

“What happens if we go over the word limit?” she asked. “Because I tend to ramble when I want to get a point across and I want to know if you’ll downgrade us for going over.”

“You get a fifty-word reprieve. You can either be over fifty words or under fifty words of the limit without any penalty. Anything after I will disregard. Think of your essay’s like blog posts. The human brain can only focus for so long and will stop being interested after a certain point. I do not allow rewrites, I am not flexible on due dates. This class meets twice a week for two hours a session. I’ve given you a list of every assignment well before the first is even supposed to be due. There is no excuse for failure.”

“But-”

“No buts.” He interrupted sharply. “No excuses.”

John felt a stab of sympathy for the young woman in the front row. The rest of the class passed as smooth as one would expect. Sherlock Holmes was...energetic. He had no regard for people’s feelings. (One girl ran out of the room crying before he’d finished covering the first half of the syllabus.) And he rambled. Frequently.

A task which takes most professors twenty minutes to a half hour took him two. The class fled from the room the second he was finished.

John, despite everything in his mind telling him to just leave, approached the front of the room.

“I wondered if you were going to approach or not,” Sherlock told him as he leaned back against the desk. He crossed his arms over his chest.

“You didn’t mention you were a professor,” John said.

“John Watson. Pre-med student correct? Why are you taking an intro philosophy course?” Sherlock asked instead.

“I needed the class to balance all the bio and chem…” John answered. He hoisted his backpack higher up on his shoulder. “You didn’t mention you were a professor.”

“It wouldn’t have been any of your business,” Sherlock pointed out.

John knew he had a point.

“I hope you’re not expecting special treatment given our previous acquaintance,” Sherlock continued. “Especially a quick shag.”

John internally flinched at the obvious brush off. “I wasn’t expecting that at all...I didn’t even know you would be teaching this course…”

Sherlock eyed him critically. “You smell.”

John flushed. “Oh...uh yeah, I’ve got rugby practice before this…” He suddenly felt awkward in his tank top and shorts.

“Try to find time to shower between now and then,” Sherlock told him. He packed up his things and stalked out of the room.


	2. I'm Sorry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so happy at all the lovely kudos and comments! As a thank you I've got another two chapters to be posted. Tossed in a brief but of Sarah/John so we could have a little jealous Sherlock~

** I'm Sorry **

 “You’re late.”

“I was busy.”

Sherlock sat down across from Mycroft and picked up the menu. “I retained Dr. Nozik’s advisees when I took over his position.”

“Are you settling in well?” Mycroft asked.

“As well as one can settle in the hole which you’ve stuck me,” Sherlock answered.

“It’s only for a little bit,” Mycroft assured him. “Just until your little escapade sorts itself out.”

“I assumed you’d have taken care of it,” Sherlock set the menu aside as the waitress walked over. “I’ll have a sparkling water, and the house salad. Dressing on the side. Extra croutons.”

She nodded and went to place his order.

“I pulled some strings yes, but you and I both know what happened, Sherlock. You won’t be stepping foot on that campus again,” Mycroft told him. “Nor any campus in that area as a matter of fact.”

“Mycroft-”

“That’s enough,” Mycroft interrupted sharply. “We are not going to be having this conversation again. Now I’ve done my best to smooth the ruffled feathers. Mother and father do not need to know the details, though I will tell them if you insist on lingering.”

“And what have you told them then?” Sherlock asked. He thanked the waitress as she set down his drink and salad.

“You didn’t want to start your career with a job you were handed rather than worked toward yourself,” Mycroft answered. “Appealed to your humanity so to speak.”

“Humanity? Dull, why didn’t you tell them the truth?” Sherlock asked. “Seems like a perfect chance for you to gloat.”

“While I’m appalled at the lack of self-respect you have shown, it’d break mother’s heart to find out what you’ve done,” Mycroft told him. “Though you’re free to tell her the truth yourself.”

Sherlock poured the dressing over his salad and stabbed at it with more force than necessary. “You gave Irene a key to my flat.”

“It seems odd for your fiancée not to have a key,” Mycroft pointed out.

“She’s not my fiancée,” Sherlock said.

“She is now,” Mycroft replied.

“I haven’t proposed.”

“You will.”

Sherlock stabbed at his salad again. “And here I thought we were going to have a nice lunch. I’m not proposing and you can’t force me to.”

“Can’t I?” Mycroft smiled.

“No. You can’t,” Sherlock answered. “I must be going now. I’ve got to prep for my lecture for this afternoon.” He picked up a crouton and tossed it into his mouth. “Good day Mycroft. Give my best to Gordon.”

Mycroft refrained from rolling his eyes.

* * *

 Sherlock walked into the classroom and dropped his briefcase on the table with a thud. He took a quick head count of those who were there. The poor fellow who’d sat in the front row had moved two back and just out of his peripheral.

Pity.

Sherlock wanted someone to stare down.

He still had two minutes before the class was meant to start and spent them setting his laptop up on the podium and getting it connected to the projector.

“The last person in turn off the lights,” he said as the door to the classroom opened.

The room was plunged into relative darkness and he picked up the remote. He turned on his heel to face the room and brought up the first slide.

“Before we are able to understand the present, we must first go back and understand the-” he looked over as the door of the classroom opened and- “So nice of you to join us, Mr. Watson.”

Even in the dark of the room, the only light coming from the projector, Sherlock could still see the wet hairs clinging to the younger man’s forehead and the labored breathing of his chest. Sherlock let his eyes trail over the man’s form before he turned to the front of the room again.

“The longer you stand there the longer I will keep you all after class,” Sherlock announced.

John reluctantly sank into one of the seats at the front of the room.

“As I was saying before we can begin to look at the present, we must go back and look at the past. The birth of the Human Conscious,” Sherlock continued. “To do so, we will start by answering a few of the W’s. The Who’s, the What’s, and the Why’s.”

He pressed the button for the next slide.

“Who can tell me the name of a great philosopher?” he asked.

He tapped his foot on the floor a little impatiently as no one raised their hand. 

“Come now, there is a bit of Q and A to this lecture,” he added. “I’ll start us off with an easy one. Plato. Now, you.” He pointed to a girl in the back of the room.

“O...oh, um, Adam Smith?” She stammered.

“Just barely, but I’ll accept it,” Sherlock agreed. “Anyone else? If anyone bothered to check your student emails, you would know I sent out a list of Philosophers for this class.”

“John Locke?”

Sherlock looked over at John. “Why?”

“What?” John blinked.

“Why John Locke?” Sherlock asked.

“You said to name a philosopher...he’s a philosopher isn’t he?” John answered. He shifted a little under Sherlock’s gaze.

“But why name him?” Sherlock answered. “Out of all the easy ones:  Plato, Aristotle, Confucius, Socrates, Voltaire...and yet you chose John Locke. I’m merely curious as to why.”

“I don’t know...I just did…” There was a hint of annoyance in his voice now.

Sherlock walked back to the front of the room. “Learn from example people, do not simply blurt the first thing that comes to mind unless you’re prepared to expound on it.”

* * *

 "Problem Mr. Watson?” Sherlock asked as he packed up his things.

“You didn’t tell Faith to expound,” John answered as he stopped in front of the desk.

“Who?” Sherlock looked up.

“The girl you called on in class, her name’s Faith and you didn’t ask her to expound,” John pointed out. “Why did you ask me?”

“Yours had a point. Adam Smith is dull,” Sherlock answered. “Yet there was doubt in your voice when you brought him up. I was giving you the opportunity to explain.”

“There was no doubt in my voice,” John frowned.

“Of course there was,” Sherlock scoffed. “I noticed it within the first moment of meeting you. You’re unsure of yourself. I’d say as a result of growing up in the shadow of an elder sibling. Brother perhaps?”

A muscle in John’s jaw ticked.

“Sister then?” Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

“That’s none of your business,” John almost snapped.

“Ahh, family then as well,” Sherlock tapped his chin. “Shame. You shouldn’t let what your family think get in the way of how you present yourself.”

John looked like he wanted to say something but movement in the doorway made him stop and instead he smiled as he turned his head.

Sherlock followed his gaze to the young woman standing in the doorway. She smiled and gave a small wave towards John.

“New friend?” Sherlock asked.

“I don’t think that’s any of your business, Professor Holmes,” John answered as he walked over to her.

Sherlock tightened his grip on the handle of his briefcase as the two walked away. He stalked to his office and tossed the case onto the couch against the back wall and shut the door behind him with a thud and walked up to the window.His phone buzzed as it began to vibrate in his pocket and he pulled it out. He pressed talk and leaned against the short bookcase. Sherlock could just barely make out John and the woman he’d left with exiting the building.

“What do you want?” he asked.

“Dinner,” Irene answered. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

“I wonder why,” Sherlock deadpanned. “I’m busy.”

“Is it that darling blond you had a few weeks ago? Now Sherlock, you know what happened last time,” she said. “It’d be a shame if I were to tell big brother what you’ve been up to.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” he pitched his voice low.

“Dinner, Sherlock. I’ve made our reservations for The Ledbury,” she told him. “I never told him about that morning, but I may just have to change my mind.”

“When?” He kept his voice clipped.

“Tomorrow evening at eight. I’ll be a little late though, so order us a nice bottle of wine,” she told him.

“Fine. Tomorrow night. Is that all?” He asked.

“Sweet dreams, darling,” she answered.

He hung up when the line went dead and he tossed the phone onto the desk. He stared out the window awhile longer, John and the young woman had long since walked away, hand in hand much to his growing annoyance.

* * *

 John rocked back and forth on his heels as he waited outside of Sherlock’s office. The paper in his hand was close to ripping from the amount of force he’d been holding it with. There was a red mark on every single inch of the paper. He wished he’d been exaggerating, but he wasn’t. Three weeks. Three weeks he’d dealt with the man’s cold demeanor, his brush-offs and to top it off, he’d said his girlfriend was cheating on him!...Well, the last one had been true. But it was still a dick move.

He was brought out of his thoughts when the door open and a girl nearly ran out of the office, holding her bag to her chest.

“Oh, it’s you,” Sherlock drawled as he stepped into the hall. “Come in then.”

“What the hell is your problem?” John demanded. He slapped the paper on the desk. “And where the hell do you get off telling me my ex-was cheating on me?”

“Really? That was just a shot in the dark,” Sherlock mused as he shut the door. “As for your paper, I told you. I don’t accept half-assed reasonings.”

“My reasonings were not half-assed,” John crossed his arms over his chest. “What is your problem with me? Ever since you found out I’m in your class you’ve been nothing but a jerk and an asshole.”

“Jerk and asshole are relative terms, you can do better than that,” Sherlock reached up to massage his temples.

John frowned a little bit and took a small step forward. “Are you feeling alright?”

“I’m fine, just a headache. I get them from time to time,” Sherlock waved his hand dismissively and swayed on his feet.

“Shit,” John surged forward as the man’s body simple slumped forward. “Bloody hell you’re heavy.” He tried not to fall back and shifted his hold on the man as he attempted to maneuver him to the couch.

His attempts were thwarted when it seemed like Sherlock didn’t want to let go. He let out a sigh and his head lolled to the side to rest on John’s shoulder. John closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

_Of course, he’d pass out in the middle of me yelling at him, as if my life isn’t cliched enough at this point,_ John thought.

He got them to the couch and after a bit of maneuvering. The man was so unconscious, John probably could have arranged the man into the shape of a pretzel and he wouldn’t have woken up. In the end, John was sitting at the end of the couch with Sherlock’s head pillowed on his lap.

On closer inspection, he did look paler than normal. His face was gaunt, with dark circles under his eyes. Even his curls were in a disarray. John sighed and ran his fingers through them.

“At least I’ve got my phone,” John sighed.

 

John looked down as Sherlock began to stir and checked the time on his phone. Almost two hours had passed since he passed out, though, as Sherlock opened his eyes, they appeared less bloodshot than before.

“When was the last time you slept?” John frowned.

“What’s today?” Sherlock asked as he sat up slowly.

“Thursday,” John answered.

“Monday.”

John blinked. “You haven’t slept since Monday?”

“Oh no, wait, I haven’t eaten since Monday. I haven’t slept since Tuesday. No matter, that nap was sufficient enough to fuel me for another day,” Sherlock answered.

“You’re an idiot,” John stated.

Sherlock frowned. “I beg your pardon.”

“You can’t just go days without sleeping and eating,” John answered.

“I’m fine, I’ve done it for longer,” Sherlock waved his hand dismissively. “Eating and sleeping slows the brain process.”

“You’re joking right?” John shook his head and stood up. “Stay here.”

He walked out of the room and jogged downstairs to the small cafe on the first floor of the building and returned a couple minutes later. He held out a bottle of water and one of the sandwiches.

“What’s this for?” Sherlock frowned.

“In return for being your human pillow, you have to eat his sandwich and drink this bottle of water,” John told him.

“I didn’t ask you to be my human pillow,” Sherlock pointed out.

“And I’m not asking you to eat now am I? I’m telling you, see the difference?” John replied.

Sherlock rolled his eyes but took the water and the sandwich. John leaned against the desk.

“No practice today?” Sherlock asked after a beat of silence.

“What makes you think that I don’t have it?” John asked.

Sherlock gave him a look as if to say ‘it’s really obvious you know’. “Let’s start with your clothes, shall we? On the days you have practice you tend to wear clothing that can be easily pulled on and off again. Usually a t-shirt and shorts, given that you’ve taken to showering after practice. On days you don’t have practice, you tend to favor a nice button up or flannel with a pair of jeans. Mostly skinny jeans that flatter your arse.”

John cleared his throat awkwardly.

“Now now don’t be modest, you have a lovely arse,” Sherlock smirked teasingly. “Your level of personal grooming tends to go up when you don’t have practice, and you’re late to class when you have practice.”

“That was brilliant,” John blinked.

“Really?” Sherlock took another swig from the water bottle. “That’s usually not what people say.”

“What do they say?” John asked.

“Piss off,” Sherlock answered.

John chuckled. “I believe it.” He pretended to look at a spot on the floor before looking up again. “So you like my ass in those jeans huh?”

“Don’t play coy,” Sherlock answered he leaned back on the couch. He started to unwrap the sandwich. “If I recall, I proved just how much I like your ass.”

“...how’d you know Sarah was cheating on me?” John asked instead.

“Saw her with another student, I think they were in the process of demonstrating how the reproductive system...functions,” Sherlock answered. “How’d you find out?”

“Saw some questionable texts to one of the guys on the rugby team, and some pictures, wasn’t hard to put two and two together,” John answered. “To be honest I couldn’t care less.”

“Oh?” Sherlock asked.

“Now who’s playing coy?” John asked.

Sherlock took another bite of the sandwich as a response. “Why can’t you care less?”

“Well, I’ve got a bit of a thing for one of my professors,” John answered. “Handsome bloke bit full of himself, yet somehow also a twat.”

“And say this professor of yours, the one that’s been a...twat…,” Sherlock stood up and tossed the wrapping from the sandwich into the trash. “Say he apologizes for acting like said twat...would you accept his apology?”

“Professor-”

“Sherlock,” he interrupted.

“...we can’t,” John shook his head.

“We’re not doing anything John,” Sherlock replied. “We’re just two people, having an innocent conversation.”

“Doesn’t feel innocent,” John pointed out.

Sherlock took a step back and straightened his jacket. “How about now?”

John chuckled.

Sherlock sighed. “You are right in that I have been treating you unfairly, and for that, I apologize. I also apologize for not telling you about Irene.”

“She seems...nice,” John nodded a little.

Sherlock’s lips twitched up in a small smile. “She’s a bitch.”

“Seems like it yeah,” John agreed. “Look, we...we had fun and some bloody fantastic sex but we can’t do that again.”

“Because of Irene?” Sherlock asked.

“Yes, but also because you’re my professor and I’m a student and I could get kicked out and you could be fired,” John answered. “I’m here on a rugby scholarship, I can’t afford to get kicked out.”

Sherlock nodded. “You’re right...I’m sorry.”

_Student’s aren’t toys for you to occupy your fits of boredom, brother. You would do well to remember that._

Sherlock mentally waved away Mycroft’s voice in his head.

“As a final act of redemption, I will look over your paper again and give you a fair grade,” Sherlock told him.

“I thought you don’t do that sort of thing,” John said.

“I could change my mind if you prefer,” Sherlock smirked teasingly.

“No. No, I think that’s an excellent act of redemption,” John told him. “Thanks…” He shoved his hands in his pockets and started for the door.

“See you in class Mr. Watson,” Sherlock told him as he left.


	3. Congratulations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm most likely going to start posting two chapters at a time, or one chapter once a week mainly cause I'm just about done with classes so I'm getting a bit more free time.

**Congratulations**

“I think this a good stopping point.” Sherlock closed the book he’d been lecturing from and set it on the desk. “I can already see that I’ve lost most your attention anyway.” 

He tried not to frown at John’s empty seat. Second row, three seats over from the middle, still in Sherlock’s peripheral, but he’d have to turn his full body if he wanted to look at him. But today, John had been absent.   He knew the reason of course. Homecoming weekend and as the rugby team usually played a homecoming game, the practice had doubled. Not that Sherlock was paying attention. Nor interested in going. 

Sherlock shifted through his emails, every second one with the subject title  **Homecoming!** In capital letters. He closed his laptop once he’d finished and took out the quizzes from the classes lecture and his red pen. 

He rolled it between his fingers and traced his fingers over the faint gold lettering before he uncapped it and began grading. He’d made it to the sixth quiz when his phone chimed, alerting him that there was a new email. 

He capped the pen and picked up his phone. 

**RE: John Watson**

**Subject: Missed Class**

Sherlock set the phone aside and pushed himself away from the desk as he stood up. He walked over to the door of his office and shut it before turning the lock. He walked over to the couch and laid down on his back throwing an arm over his face. 

He closed his eyes and found himself conjuring the image of John in his head. Flushed cheeks, ruffled hair, lips parted just slightly. 

Sherlock’s hand deftly undid his belt and the button on his slacks before he slid his hand beneath the fabric and curled around his already hardening length. 

He went further and tried to picture John in his uniform. Thin shirt pulled tight across a muscular chest. Shorts stopping just mid-thigh. God those thighs. 

Sherlock sucked in a sharp breath and tried to keep his pace even. He could still feel those thighs gripping him tight around the hips as he pushed himself up and down on Sherlock’s member. They way they flexed under his fingers. 

He bit down on the sleeve of his jacket as he spilled into his hand and slumped on the couch. He took a few deep breaths to calm himself down and moved his arm to look at his hand. The sticky substance already starting to cool as it hit the air. 

“Bollocks.”

* * *

 

“I didn’t think homecoming games were your thing,” Molly said as she and Sherlock walked across the parking lot to the outdoor field. “You never went to a single one at Uni.” 

“If I’m going to be stuck here, I might as well try to make the best of it,” he replied. “Thanks for coming with me on such short notice.” 

“Course,” she smiled. “Been awhile since we got together.” 

“It has, hasn’t it?” Sherlock gave her a slight smile as they passed through the gates. “Why don’t you grab us some seats and I’ll get some snacks.” 

“Sounds great,” she nodded and walked off in the direction of the bleachers. 

“Professor.” 

Sherlock turned and spotted John jogging towards him. His cleats clicked on the cement and his shirt clung to his skin, already a little damp with sweat from warm up. 

“Mr. Watson,” Sherlock greeted. “Shouldn’t you be on the field?” 

“We’ve got a little break before the game starts,” John answered. “I was on my way back when I saw you. I didn’t think you’d come.” 

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. 

“Homecoming doesn’t seem like it’s your thing,” John clarified. 

“It’s not,” Sherlock agreed. “But, I’m nothing if not supportive of my students.” 

John rocked back on his heels and ran a hand through his hair. “Right...well uh, enjoy the game.” 

“Good luck,” Sherlock replied. 

John gave him another smile before he turned and ran off towards the rest of his team. Sherlock grabbed a few hot dogs and sodas before making his way to where Molly had snagged them two seats.

“Hope these’ll do,” she said as he joined her. 

They had a spot closer to the top giving them an ample view of the field. Sherlock picked up his soda and took a long pull. 

“Who was that young man talking to you?” She asked after a little while. 

“Hmm?” Sherlock looked over at her. “Oh, one of my students, he’s one of the players.” 

She gave him a sidelong glance. 

“He was just telling me how he didn’t think I’d show up and I was only agreeing with him,” Sherlock told her. “I’ve learned my lesson, Molly.” 

“Sherlock…” she trailed off and he sank lower in his seat. 

“It was once but I didn’t know he was going to be one of my students,” he admitted. “Nothing has happened since. Honestly, I learned my lesson.” 

“Then why are you here?” She asked. “Why am I here?” 

“You’re here to enjoy my school’s homecoming game and cheer our team to victory,” he answered. “And then you’re going to make sure I don’t linger.” 

“Oh Sherlock…” she sighed. “What happened?” 

“I would prefer not to talk about it,” Sherlock said and smiled as one of the other professors of the school passed by. He tried not to pull a face seeing the man decked out in sports regalia. “If I ever do that, slap me.” 

“You’re deflecting,” she told him. 

“There’s nothing to talk about,” he unwrapped his hot dog. “We met at a club, went back to my flat, had a good shag, and woke up to Irene. I may have led him to believe she and I were not currently together, he ran out...I found out he was a student in my class, may have been a bit of an arse for a while, but I apologized, and you know, agreed what happened can’t happen again….” 

“But you want it to happen again,” she pointed out. 

“No, I don’t,” he said. 

“Sherlock, you don’t do sports and yet you’re here on homecoming to watch rugby,” Molly pointed out. 

“I’m here to support my student, and nothing more,” Sherlock stated, whether to affirm it to Molly or himself he didn’t know.

* * *

 

“Where are you going?” Molly frowned as Sherlock started to walk towards the building housing the locker rooms. 

“Bathroom,” Sherlock answered. “You know me, bladder the size of a pea.” He lied smoothly and tossed her the car keys. “Meet you in twenty.”

He slipped through the crowd of people before she could reply and scanned the signs before finding what he was looking for and ducking around a corner as a group of the players came out laughing and clapping each other on the shoulder. 

He caught the words ‘party’ and ‘lots of beer’ as he snuck in. He hid behind a small alcove of lockers as he walked into the men’s and waited as a few more players left. He chanced a glance around the corner and spotted John in the midst of wiping dirt and sweat off his face as he talked to another player in the process of changing. 

“Jesus Moran, how hard did you hit the bastard?” John laughed as he examined the other man’s jersey. 

“You’re one to talk,” the man, Moran, gave John a friendly shove. “You’re lucky the ref wasn’t able to tell whether or not you kicked the poor sod.” 

“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about,” John gave him an innocent smile and Sherlock found himself clenching his hands into fists. 

Moran gave him a fake unconvinced look and took the jersey from John to stuff it in his duffel. “See you at the party?” 

“I’d never miss the chance to drink you under the table! Just wanna shower first,” John answered. 

“Good game, Watson,” Moran finished the conversation with a slap to John’s shoulder and jogged out of the locker room. 

Sherlock waited for a couple minutes to make sure John was, in fact, alone before he stepped out and leaned against the lockers. 

“Congratulations.” 

“Bloody hell!” John jumped startled and spun on his heel. “You could’ve given me a heart attack!” 

“You’re far too young and in shape for such a thing,” Sherlock answered.

He let his gaze trail over John’s form and took in the jersey and rumpled shorts. When he looked up, there was a nice little blush on John’s cheeks. 

“You’re not supposed to be in here,” John tried to sound stern. 

“I wanted to congratulate you on scoring the winning goal, but you came in here before I could,” Sherlock replied. 

He pushed himself off the lockers and started to walk towards him. He was, of course, detoured by the bench that separated himself and John and he took a moment to look at the piece of wood bolted to the floor with a glare. 

“I missed you,” Sherlock blurted out. 

He cursed under his breath. 

“You missed me…?” John asked. 

“You weren’t in class…” Sherlock answered. “And it was weird…” 

John scratched the back of his neck and kicked at the floor with his cleat. “I missed you too…Despite the fact that you’re a complete arse…” 

Sherlock chuckled. “So you keep saying.” 

“Am I wrong?” John asked. 

“No,” Sherlock answered. 

John laughed and Sherlock smiled at the warm feeling it created inside him. He couldn’t remember the last time someone’s laugh had affected him in such a way. He had never felt this way with..., no, he shook the thought out of his head. 

John’s laughter faded and he raised a curious eyebrow as Sherlock started to climb over the bench and crowd him against the lockers. He reached up and cupped John’s face between his hands and hesitated before leaning in and giving him a soft kiss. 

John was still for a minute. 

Sherlock had counted. 

Then his arms were wrapping around Sherlock and he was kissing back. Sherlock pressed his body against John’s and rocked. This earned a low moan from John and a twitch of interest from some lower parts of their bodies.  Sherlock pressed their foreheads together as he broke the kiss and dropped his hands to dig into John’s hips and slip his fingers under the waistband of his shorts. 

“Wha...what are you doing?” John panted. 

“I told you, I wanted to congratulate you,” Sherlock answered. 

He sank to his knees, pulling down John’s shorts and briefs at the same time but stopped once he reached mid-thigh. He stroked the soft skin, he’d have to remember to ask him if he shaved his thighs as well or if they were naturally hairless. 

He wrapped a hand around the base of John’s length and gave a few tugs as it began to fill. John covered his mouth and his eyes fluttered as Sherlock began to stroke him in earnest. 

“Don’t you dare stop,” John practically growled as Sherlock suddenly let go. 

Sherlock chuckled. “Not to worry, merely getting more comfortable.” He shifted his position and parted his own legs in an effort to relieve some of the pressure in his own trousers and this time leaned forward to press a quick kiss to the head of his member and then took the head into his mouth. 

“Ffffuuuck,” John reached down and fisted Sherlock’s hair with one of his hands and Sherlock groaned. 

Sherlock placed his hands on the back of John’s thighs as he began to take the entirety of him into his mouth and breathed in his scent: his musk, the dirt, and sweat that still clung to his body post game.  He took a few moments to calm himself down and gave an experimental swallow. John’s grip tightened as he whimpered. Sherlock took pity on the man and squeezed his thighs gently as they trembled. 

Sherlock pulled back just enough to swipe his tongue across the head, the taste of his pre-cum was salty and god he wanted to taste every inch of John’s skin.  _ Later,  _ he mind supplied helpfully and he returned to his task at hand in getting John to orgasm.  He reached up and began to stroke his perineum and occasionally give his balls a soft squeeze. He used John’s grip in his hair as his guide and it only took two more minutes for John to give just the right tug and cum into Sherlock’s mouth. 

Sherlock barely registered his own release as both men sagged, John against the lockers, Sherlock against John with his cheek pressed against a soft thigh. 

“Did...did you cum in your pants?” John finally asked. 

Sherlock took a moment to assess the conditions of his pants and nodded. “I did. Yes.” 

“Just from...this?” John asked. 

“And these,” Sherlock practically purred as he reached up and wrapped his hand around John’s hand, that had switched from it’s tight grip to a soft stroking movement. “Very sensitive follicles.”

“Really?” John’s lips twitched and he gave an experimental tug. 

Sherlock’s eyes flutter and in turn, he squeezed the back of John’s thigh. “As much as I’d love to experiment with bodily reactions,” Sherlock reluctantly pulled away and stood up. He was glad he’d worn his coat otherwise it’d be very awkward trying to explain the wet patch on his pants. “I need to leave.” 

“Right...I should shower…” John tugged his clothes back up. “We should uh…-” 

“Where’s your phone?” Sherlock asked. 

John frowned. “What?” 

“Your phone, where is it?” Sherlock asked. 

“In my locker,” John answered as he pointed behind himself. He stepped aside as Sherlock reached for the handle and pulled it open. He picked up the phone and held it out to John. “If you could.” 

John, still with the adorable look of confusion, unlocked the phone and Sherlock took it back. He pulled up the contacts and added his phone number. 

“What are you doing?” John frowned as he tried to grab the phone. 

“Clearly, we both feel something for each other,” Sherlock used his height to advantage and held the phone above his head out of arm's reach. “Now I believe you’re going to go and get completely sloshed, but afterward, when you’re relatively sober, we can talk about this and what we need to do. Also, please keep jumping, this is rather enjoyable for me.” 

John grabbed the lapels of his coat and pulled him into a kiss, biting his lip a bit roughly. Sherlock’s brain may have momentarily short-circuited. John pulled away and smirked in triumph as he snatched the phone away from the man. 

“Touche,” Sherlock licked his lips.

* * *

 

_ Clearly, we both feel something for each other _ .

Sherlock buried his face into the couch cushion, wanting to scream. Why in god’s name had he said something so bloody stupid? Perhaps he could find something to suffocate himself just enough he could forget ever uttering those words and play dumb if John approached him. 

He was in the middle of contemplating what method would be more effective when his phone started to chime. He frowned and snagged it off the coffee table and pressed talk as he brought it to his ear. 

“Hello…?” 

“Hullo~” 

Sherlock sat up. “John?” 

“Bingo,” the other broke off into a fit of giggles and Sherlock rolled his eyes. 

“John, you’re drunk, you should go home,” Sherlock told him sternly. “We can talk during my office hours.” 

“Mmm can’t go home,” John mused. 

“Surely someone can give you a lift back to the dorms,” Sherlock frowned. 

“Mmmmm nope. Not at the party anymore,” John giggled again. “M’outside your flat.” 

Sherlock blinked. “What?” 

“M’outside...can I come up?” His voice sounded soft all of a sudden and Sherlock’s insides squirmed. 

Sherlock hurried downstairs and opened the front door of the building to see John standing on the doorstep. He looked at Sherlock sheepishly or attempted to. His eyes were red and puffy, the right one turning an ugly shade of black and blue. His shirt was on backwards as if he’d had to dress in a hurry. 

A state Sherlock knew he hadn’t left him in only a couple hours previous. 

“M’sorry I just...I…” He hugged himself. “I didn’t…” 

“Sherlock? Everything alright?” 

“Everything’s fine Mrs. Hudson,” Sherlock called over his shoulder and quickly ushered John inside. 

“Oh dear,” the older woman stepped out of her flat and took in John’s disheveled appearance. “I’ll put on the kettle.” 

Sherlock gave her a grateful smile and turned his attention back to John as she went back inside. John flinched as Sherlock started to place his hand on his shoulder, then seemed to berate himself. 

“Sorry…” John apologized. 

“It’s alright,” Sherlock took a small step back to give John some space. “Just straight upstairs.” 

“I remember…” John gave him a small smile and gripped the banister. 

Sherlock took in the bloodied knuckles and made a mental note to get the first aid kit out of the bathroom. They entered the flat quietly, Sherlock had to verbally tell John to sit. He seemed suddenly lost.  He grabbed the first aid kit out of the bathroom and filled a small bowl with water and grabbed a small washcloth from the linen closet and joined John on the couch. 

“You want to talk about it?” Sherlock asked. He carefully took John’s hand and began to clean the blood off his knuckles. 

“Don’t mind me, just bringing you boys some tea and biscuits,” Mrs. Hudson said as she carried in a tray. 

“Thank you. I’ll remember to bring it down in the morning,” Sherlock told her. 

She gave them both a smile and shut the door behind her as she left. 

John gave Sherlock a curious look. 

“Mrs. Hudson owns the building,” Sherlock supplied. “We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.” 

“If I talk about it...I’m going to be sick…” John shook his head. 

“Then we won’t talk about it,” Sherlock told him. He wrapped John’s knuckle with a few plasters and a bandage a few times for extra measure. 

“I’m sorry…” John apologized again. “I don’t know why I came here I just...I couldn’t go back to my dorm and...I couldn’t…” 

“It’s alright. I’d give you a few painkillers, but despite your act of sobriety, I’ve a feeling you're so sloshed you can’t feel a thing can you?” Sherlock told him. 

“Sounds bout right,” John nodded. “Would...would it be alright if I stayed here tonight? I could kip out on your couch…” 

“Bed’s much more comfortable,” Sherlock told him. “Though I don’t know if I have anything that will fit you. While you are shorter, you’re a bit broader than I am. Have some tea and give me a moment.” 

He stood and left John on the couch as he walked to the spare room upstairs, that sometimes double as a guest room, or all-purpose room and looked through the closet before he found a pair of Mycroft's clothes and returned to the living room. 

“My brother’s,” Sherlock held them out to John. 

“You have a brother?” John asked as he took the clothes. 

“Sadly,” Sherlock drawled. 

John smiled a bit in understanding. 

“Bathroom’s just off the kitchen,” Sherlock added. 

He cleaned up the tea, John had had a little as well as some of the biscuits, which was good. Sherlock filled a glass of water and grabbed a few painkillers and set them on his bedside table for John in the morning.   He changed into a pair of sleep pants and a t-shirt and glanced up when he felt eyes on him. 

“What?” Sherlock raised an eyebrow. 

“S’weird,” John slurred a little. “You dressed like that.” 

“What? You thought I had pajamas that looked like suits?” Sherlock chuckled. 

“Yes, actually,” John nodded. 

“Get in,” Sherlock pulled the covers back. 

John visibly swallowed but slowly stepped forward and got in under the covers. Sherlock dashed out and made sure the front door was locked--he’d gotten new lock’s since Irene’s last visit, but it never hurt to be careful. 

John was already asleep when he returned. He was curled up on his side, arm wrapped tight around the pillow he was using. Sherlock thought back to the laugh he’d coaxed from John only hours before and felt anger at whomever, or whatever, had caused such a dramatic shift in the younger man. 

He turned off the light and quietly moved to the other side of the room to get into bed and made sure to keep a little distance between them, lest John wake up in a panic. Sherlock found the remote on his bedside and switched on the stereo. 

Sherlock drifted off to the sounds of Bach in his ears and a warm body curling up next to his own. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What happened to John you may ask? Don't worry, all will be revealed!
> 
> Most likely not next chapter though


	4. Thank You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So glad you guys are enjoying this story! Another morning after for our dear John, fair warning the next few chapters are a bit angsty but fluff and romance is on the horizon!

**Thank You**

There were a few things John realized as he started to wake up. His head felt like someone had taken a jackhammer to it, his face throbbed, he was once again in his professor's bedroom, in his bed. Though said professor was not actually in bed with him. 

He sat up carefully and picked up the glass of water and painkillers left on the bedside table and popped them into his mouth before downing the water. He found his phone face down on the table as well and winced at the fifteen missed calls and forty texts. 

Some were more congratulations on winning the game, some were asking where he'd gone too, two required him to tilt his head and…

“Oh my…”, John quickly deleted the photos. 

The bulk of the calls were from Moran. Each spaced just about twenty minutes apart ending with what looked like a three-minute voicemail. 

John set the phone face down again and instead got out of bed in search of Sherlock. 

He found the man seemingly engrossed in something on his laptop. He was still dressed in an old t-shirt and sleep pants, with a tan dressing-gown thrown on top. He had on a pair of black wire-framed glasses pushed up the bridge of his nose.  What looked like a crystal ashtray was balanced on the armrest of the couch, a cigarette dangling between two long fingers, and another cigarette already stamped out. 

“Bathroom’s just two your left,” Sherlock said. He brought the cigarette to his lips and took a long drag. He seemed to hold it for a minute before exhaling slowly. “Feel free to shower, I've left some towels and another change of clothes in there.” 

“Ta…” John took him up on the offer and shut the bathroom door behind him. He relieved himself as the shower warmed and stripped off the pajamas then stepped inside. He unwrapped the bandages to look at his knuckles and was happy to note the damage was mostly superficial.

The warm water felt nice against his sore muscles. Closer inspection revealed a bruise on his left thigh (strange how it almost resembled a pair of fingers), a bruise on his right shin from when a member of the other team kicked him instead of the ball, and a few minor cuts on his hands from sliding on the ground or using them to block. 

He washed up, being mindful of his bruised face as he carefully ran a towel over it and stepped out once he’d finished and wrapped himself in a towel. 

The clothes Sherlock had left out for him were a pair of cotton sweats, a thin long sleeved shirt, and no underwear. He shrugged and pulled on the clothes, dried his hair and tossed the used towels into the hamper before walking back out to the living room. 

Sherlock was just putting out a third cigarette as John entered and he set the ashtray aside. He laptop was already closed and pushed to the corner of the coffee table. John felt like he was under a microscope as Sherlock tapped the cigarette carton on the armrest of the couch and looked at John. 

“What happened last night?” Sherlock asked. 

“...You gave me a congratulatory blow job in the locker room and then creamed your pants…” John answered. 

“True,” Sherlock’s cheeks turned a light shade of pink as he seemed to recall the memory, “but I also left you rather satisfied.” He set the carton aside and leaned back on the couch. “Only to have you show up on my doorstep completely sloshed and a little worse for wear…." he furrowed his brow. "John, if you were-

“No! Jesus no,”John interrupted. He ran a hand through his hair and dug his bare toes into the carpet. “No, just...we had too much to drink, some things were said, I don't...I don't even remember half of what happened.” 

It was a lie. A terrible lie. John knew it. So did Sherlock. 

“I understand it's...difficult to talk about these things. But I am your professor and if you need someone to confide in, I can tell the school and keep it anonymous if you want,” Sherlock told him. 

John snorted. “Seems a bit dumb considering what happened between us.” 

“It’s not your fault John,” Sherlock continued. 

“I know it’s not my bloody fault,” John snapped. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath to calm himself down. “Look, I just, I don’t want to talk about it okay? Can we...can we just talk about something else? Or have sex? Sex sounds really great.” 

A pained look flashed across the man’s face. “John, there’s some-” Sherlock picked up his phone off the coffee table as it began to vibrate and the look was replaced by annoyance. “I've got to take this.” 

John nodded and stepped back as Sherlock rose from the couch and brushed past him and into the bedroom with a clipped ‘what’ following behind him. 

He awkwardly stood in the middle of the living room and took in the small area. Papers scattered on the coffee table, he raised an eyebrow at the yellow smiley face spray painted on the wall behind the couch and the worn furniture. 

“Good morning dear.” The older woman from last night --Mrs. Hudson-- Sherlock had called her, smiled as she walked into the flat with a tray of food.  “Sherlock thought you might be in need of a good breakfast after the night you had. Man can't be bothered to cook though.” 

“Oh, let me give you a hand with that,” he quickly walked over and took the tray carrying it to the kitchen. 

Two plates were piled with sausage, bacon, eggs, beans, and toast. John’s mouth watered at the sight and the smell 

“Has Sherlock lived here very long?” John asked as he sat down with one of the plates. 

She walked over to the kettle and filled it with water before setting it to boil as a thoughtful look crossed her face. 

“Goodness, going on about ten years now,” she answered after a minute. “Best tenant I've had once you get past those hard edges. He really is a big old softie.” She smiled. 

“Are you spreading lies again Mrs. Hudson?” Sherlock raised an eyebrow as he walked out of the bedroom. He snatched a piece of bacon off of John’s plate, despite his attempt to stop him. 

“Really Sherlock, the mess you make,” she tutted and gave John a secret smile. “You two boys enjoy.” She patted Sherlock’s cheek as she left the kitchen and used the separate door that led into the hall shutting it behind her. 

“So, ten years huh?” John asked. He finished off his bacon before Sherlock could take another and started to cut the sausage. 

“It's a nice neighborhood,” Sherlock shrugged. “She was having trouble renting the place, I'd just finished graduate school and didn't fancy going home, win-win for both of us.” 

“It's very you,” John smiled. “How about a proper tour this time?” 

“First eat,” Sherlock pushed a plate towards him. “You’ll feel better.” 

“Only if you eat too,” John replied. 

“You drive a hard bargain,” Sherlock pretend to look put out, even as he grabbed another piece of bacon. 

The two sat across from each other and it was less than a minute before Sherlock’s foot was brushing up against John's ankle underneath the table. The man’s face remained blank, save for the slight glint in his eyes everytime he ‘happened’ to look at John.  Breakfast was quickly finished, John practically licked his plate clean, and the dishes left for later as Sherlock stood. 

“As you can see this is the kitchen, really for show, I don’t eat much so the kitchen doesn’t get used very often,” he had the decency to look abashed at the stern look John gave him. “Of course, I’ve been eating a lot more than before.” 

“I call this my ‘office’ though I use the term loosely,” they stepped just between the sliding kitchen doors where two chairs were sat facing each other in front of a fireplace. It was still a bit too warm for an actual fire so the small gate was left latched. “Ah and this is a friend of mine...well when I say, friend, I mean…” 

He trailed off as he stared at the skull before he motioned for John to follow. “This is the living room,” he tried to straighten up the coffee table and stuffed the carton of cigarettes into the pocket of his dressing gown. John raised an eyebrow.

“You try living in London and not smoking,” Sherlock shrugged. “The place came with two bedrooms. It started out as a guest room at my mother’s insistence but I don’t get many guests seeing as my parent's usually stay with Mycroft, so now it’s just things I mean to get rid of but can’t find the time to do so.” 

John nodded and watched him walk over to the window and open it. 

“You mind?” he fished the pack out of his pocket and started to take one out. 

“You’ve had three already,” John pointed out. 

“Mmm point?” Sherlock asked. He grabbed a lighter off the bookshelf next to him and tossed it onto the couch after he’d lit the stick. 

He leaned against the window ciel and took a deep drag of the stick and waited a few moments before blowing it out. 

“I keep meaning to switch to electric,” he added as he examined the stick. 

John licked his lips as he watched the long fingers bring the cigarette to his lips again. He took another drag and curved his mouth in the shape of an ‘o’ and blew out a few circles before the rest of the smoke blew out his nose reminding John of dragon’s from books he used to read as a child. 

“What’s stopping you?” John asked. 

“Too much effort,” Sherlock answered. “Hand me the astray would you?” 

John picked up the crystal astray next to the arm of the couch and held it out to Sherlock. He took the ashtray and tapped the cigarette against the edge as he looked at John. 

“Something on your mind Mr. Watson?” he stabbed the cigarette out in the astray and set it aside.

Sherlock smirked as he walked towards him, until John had to tilt his head in order to keep eye contact. John cleared his throat as he looked away and ran a hand through his hair. 

“I should uh...I should get going. My friends are probably wondering where I am…” He took a step back to put some distance between them. He tugged at the sleeve of the shirt. 

“I’m afraid Mrs. Hudson insisted on cleaning your clothes and mending your sweater,” Sherlock apologized. “You can return those to me on Monday, during office hours of course.” 

“Of course…” John nodded. “I’ll just get my things…” 

He turned and walked back to the bedroom and grabbed his phone off the nightstand. It lit up to show another five missed messages and he sighed. 

Sherlock was waiting by the door with his coat and shoes.

“Thanks for...thanks…” John said lamely. He pulled on his coat and shoes. 

He followed Sherlock down the stairs as the man walked him to the door and shoved his hands into his pockets as he stared at the floor. 

“John.” 

He looked up at the soft utterance of his name and leaned into the slow, soft kiss Sherlock gave him. He was the first to pull away, though he didn’t want to.

“Text me when you get to your dorm,” Sherlock told him. “Otherwise Mrs. Hudson will worry.” 

“M’sure she will,” John nodded. “Thanks…” 

“So you keep saying,” Sherlock chuckled as he opened the front door. “Goodbye John.” 

“Bye…” 


	5. Stay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a warning as there's a brief mention of an almost assault and some drugging.

**Stay**

_"Oi, Watson, you know the rules. No empty hands,” Moran said as he shoved another drink at him._

_He slung his arm around John’s shoulder and John had to grab ahold of him to keep from falling over._

_“Don’t spill it, drink it,” Moran laughed as some of the liquid sloshed over the side of the glass and onto John’s shirt._

_“If you stop moving then I’ll be able to,” John shot back with a laugh. He swayed a bit on his feet as he brought the glass to his lips and took a few sips. He frowned a little at the tangy taste and pulled the glass away. “What is this? Taste weird.”_

_“Just a beer,” Moran shrugged. “Drink up.”_

_John shook his head and set the glass aside. “Feel like I’m gon’barf, I’ll have some later,” he lied. He was too drunk to see the brief annoyed look in Moran’s eyes as he set the glass on a nearby table._

_“Be right back, gotta hit the loo,” he ducked under his arm and staggered his way to the bathroom._

_Moran grabbed his arm before he could get there. “Someone already made a mess of that one, there’s one upstairs.”_

_John nodded and allowed the other man to lead him through the crowd of people and up a flight of steps to the-_

_“S’not a bathroom,” John pointed out as Moran pushed open a door to a bedroom._

 

John rolled over as his alarm started going off and groped around blindly for the off button. He reluctantly dragged himself out of bed and picked his phone up as he made his way to the closet and dug around for something to wear.

He scrolled through his text messages and slowed as he read over one from Moran.

**_Sorry bout the party, let me buy you a drink as an apology? -M_ **

**_Don’t worry about it. Rain check on the drink, study group tonight_ **

He set the phone aside and finished brushing his teeth. He shoved his phone into his back pocket and grabbed his backpack and keys as he left his dorm and locked the door behind him.

* * *

 

**_Come on, skip study group. Drinks on me -M_ **

John stared at the newest text and felt his stomach roll at the possibility of getting drinks with Moran. His mind was still fuzzy on some of the details from that night but they weren’t pleasant details. His knuckles were still a bit sore, and from what he’d gathered Moran still had the remains of a split lip and black eye.

“Mr. Watson, perhaps you’d like to what has captured your attention with the rest of the class? I assume it must be so interesting as you’ve been ignoring today’s lecture.”

John looked up and saw Sherlock regarding him with a raised eyebrow.

“Sorry…” he mumbled and put his phone back in his pocket.

He tried to will away the guilt steadily mounting his guy as he looked at the man. He’d been close to skipping class in an effort to avoid him. Monday aTuesdayday had passed by easily enough given the class didn’t meet then, and none of his classes were in the science building, but he couldn’t risk missing a quiz grade.

_Clearly, we both feel something for each other._ Sherlock’s voice still rang his head. _We’ll talk when you’re sober._

Only, they hadn’t had they? No. They ignored it. They eye fucked and John wussed out and left. God, he had wanted to stay so bad. They didn’t even have to have sex, sex was honestly the furthest thought from his mind then. Just being there. With _him_ _._ With Sherlock. It felt good. So good and waking up in his bed. Waking up and seeing Sherlock in his own home. He regretted ignoring the urge to just curl up next to him while he worked.

Would Sherlock have put his arm around him? How nice would that have felt if he had? He sighed and looked back down at the textbook on the desk in front of him.

The man was his teacher. He had a girlfriend. They could both get into serious trouble if they tried to pursue something….would Sherlock even want to pursue something with him? Oh god, what if Sherlock was just humoring him? What if he was just telling John what he wanted to hear? What if he found John’s attention bothersome?

“John?”

Sherlock’s voice closer now.

“John breathe. Put your head between your legs and take deep breaths.”

“Ca...can’t,” John gasped out.

“Everybody out now,” Sherlock ordered.

John barely registered the sound of rapidly retreating footsteps. He dug his fingers into his palms and squeezed his eyes shut.

“Just breathe John,” Sherlock repeated gently. “It’s alright. I’m here. I’ve got you.”

“I’m an idiot,” John choked out. “Such an idiot.”

“Everybody's an idiot,” Sherlock replied.

John’s breath hitched again.

“Relax John, or you’re going to pass out,” Sherlock instructed.

_Wouldn’t that be icing on the fucking cake,_ John thought.

It took twenty minutes for John to reach a state of passable calm. And another ten before he could actually speak. Not that he a did.

“You want to tell me what that was about?” Sherlock asked.

John shook his head.

“I must warn you, I’m very good at charades,” Sherlock continued.

John started to smile, but it fell short as his phone buzzed into his pocket again. He hugged himself in an effort to stem off another panic attack.

“What’s wrong John?” Sherlock asked.

“It’s nothing…” John answered. “It’s stupid.”

“Clearly something is bothering you,” Sherlock crossed his arms over his chest. “Does it have to do with what you were looking at?”

John found himself nodding.

“Right, give me your phone,” Sherlock held out his hand.

John shook his head. “No, I can take care of it.”

“I am calling absolute bull shit. Phone. Now,” Sherlock demanded.

John’s shoulder’s sagged as he reached into his back pocket and handed the man his phone. He wasn’t even going to ask how Sherlock figured out his password and instead focused on the way Sherlock blue dress shirt brought out the paleness of his skin.

“John…”

“Don’t...please, just, let me handle it.”

“What happened?” Sherlock asked. “John, I can’t help if you don’t tell me.”

“Who said I need your help?” John suddenly snapped.

“John, I want to help you because you’re one my students and it’s my job to make sure you’re okay,” Sherlock remained calm.

“Bit of shit job you’re doing ain’t it?” Sarcasm dripped off every word. “Is it your job to fuck your students too?” He snatched his phone back. “I don’t need you dropping in like some fucking knight in a black Belstaff.” He shoved his things into his bag and slung the back over his shoulder. “So you can kindly fuck off.” He stormed out of the room.

* * *

  _“What’re you doing?” John slurred as Moran backed him against the wall._

_“Celebrating a good game,” Moran chuckled._

_John snorted. “Ha ha very funny. Seriously, move.”_

_“Oh don’t be like that. Should be feeling extra good by now,” Moran reached for the hem of his shirt._

_John blinked and tried to ease him off. “What are you talking about?”_

_“Slipped a little something extra into our drinks,” Moran shrugged._

_“You...drugged me?” John asked. “What the fuck.”_

_“Oh please,” Moran rolled his eyes. “Come on. I know you were flirting with me earlier.”_

_“I was not flirting with you, get off of me,” he tried to be firmer as pushed Moran._

_“Yeah, right,” Moran grabbed his wrist._

_“I’m serious,” John tried a different tactic and kneed him in the groin._

_Moran swore and growled as he tried to grab John. He snagged the sleeve of his jumper and yanked him back._

 

“You’re hurting my feelings.”

John tried not to tense as Moran pushed himself off the wall of John’s building. He walked over to him with his arms crossed over his chest.

“I saw you at practice,” John replied.

“You know what I mean,” Moran rolled his eyes. “What gives? Still pissy about the party? It was just a joke Watson.”

“A joke?” John clenched his hands into fists. “Sadly, you and I don’t seem to share your twisted sense of humor. Trying to drug someone is not a joke.”

“Was just gonna take a few pictures, have a little fun,” Moran shrugged. “S’not like you’re a stranger to fun. And you’ve got such a nice arse. Can you blame me?”

“I’m gonna be sick,” John covered his mouth.

“Oh come off it,” Moran rolled his eyes. “Much rather you be actually coherent for that bit.”

“Mr. Moran, unless you’d prefer a nice trip to the Dean’s office you will cease this harassment of Mr. Watson.”

Sherlock’s voice cut through the air like a knife and his hand was a solid weight on John’s shoulder. He hadn’t realized how much he’d been shaking until he had registered Sherlock's hand.

“Who the fuck are you?” Moran frowned.

“Someone with friends in very high places,” Sherlock answered. “Now, as I said, leave or be escorted to the Dean’s. You’re choice.”

“Whatever,” Moran huffed and walked away.

John swayed on his feet and Sherlock dropped his hands from his shoulder, only to grab his hand a few seconds later and guide him to a nearby bench outside of the building. He squeezed his eyes shut and took a couple deep breaths trying to keep the bile that threatened to crawl up this throat at bay.

“How...how’d you find me?” John asked.

“Haven’t you heard? I’m a knight in black Belstaff, it’s my duty to know where the damsels are,” Sherlock answered.

John chuckles at first, then hunched forward even more as tears gathered in the corners of his eyes.

“I...I’m sorry...I shouldn’t...what I said…”

“Shhh, it’s alright John,” Sherlock wrapped an arm around him and rubbed his back. “It’s alright John.”

“No, it’s not,” John’s voice cracked.

“Moran-”

“It’s not about him,” John pulled himself away already missing the touch. “It’s you.”

“Oh…I see...” Sherlock stood and inclined his head towards John’s building.  “Perhaps this conversation would be better had inside?”

John nodded a little and dug into his pockets for his keys. He led Sherlock into the building, up to the second floor and to his dorm. He never realized how sparsely it was decorated until someone other than his mates were in the room with him. Sherlock shut the door behind him and set his briefcase on the floor next to John’s desk. He shrugged out of his coat and laid it across the back as he sat.

“What?” Sherlock asked with a raised eyebrow.

“'m trying to imagine you living in a college room like this…” John asked.

Sherlock grimaced. “I had a roommate. Wasn’t fun.”

John slipped off his shoes and sat on his bed suddenly exposed. He rubbed his hands together not sure of what to say.

“Thank you...for...what you said to Moran…” John started.

“I still have half a mind to report him,” Sherlock answered.

The clear venom in Sherlock’s voice startled John.

“Please don’t...I can...I can handle him,” John looked at his sheets. “I can try anyway….”

Sherlock nodded. “Was I...the reason for your panic attack?”

John swallowed. “Yeah...I…” he licked his lips. “I just started thinking about what happened over the weekend and...and what you said, about us liking each other...but, I thought...I thought you might be humoring me, or telling me what I wanted to hear. I...I like you, I know I shouldn't. I know you’re my professor, and I know you have a girlfriend, but I...I like you, and I didn’t want to leave and the thought of you not liking me...it..it hurts…”

“Oh John…”

John felt, rather than saw the bed dip. When had he closed his eyes?

“John look at me,” Sherlock’s fingers were warm on his cheek as he turned his head. “Please?”

John opened his eyes to look at Sherlock.

“I didn’t want you to leave either,” Sherlock told him. “I _wanted_ you to stay. I didn’t even want to get out of bed that morning, waking up next to you was...I’ve never felt that way John.”

“Then why didn’t you ask me to stay?” John asked. “I would’ve stayed if you’d ask.”

“I know...I know,” Sherlock answered. “But I need...I need you to ask me. I need-”

“Will you stay?” John interrupted softly. 

 


	6. Big Brother .VS. Little Brother

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, a bit of a brief cliffhanger for our boys with the last chapter. But now onto some light fluff and future plannings, and a little visit from big brother.   
> Took a couple liberties with Sherlock's schooling  
> Also going to add these past three chapters haven't been beta'd

Sherlock woke up to darkness with the only light streaming in under the door of John’s dorm. He rolled onto his back, being mindful not to wake John, and took his glasses off to pinch the bridge of his nose to relieve a small headache he'd acquired from sleeping with them on. 

_ “Stay...we don’t have to do anything, I just...can you stay? Please?” John reached up and wrapped his hand around Sherlock’s.  _

_ Sherlock knew he should say no, he should leave, the line between them was already dissolving, staying could wipe it out of existence. But- _

_ “Okay,” Sherlock nodded and John relaxed.  _

_ No, relax isn’t the right word. He sagged. The tension drained from his body.  _

_ Sherlock stood up and toed off his shoes while John pushed the already rumpled sheets to the foot of the bed. Sherlock got back in the bed and moved so his back was to the wall. John laid down next to him, his head tucked under Sherlock's chin and an arm wrapped around Sherlock, their legs slotted together.  _

_ "Why'd I need to ask?" John murmured softly.  _

_ "Because...I needed to know you wanted this too," Sherlock answered.  _

 

He reached out and ran his thumb across John’s cheek. His black-eye had all but faded and a nice feeling of pride? Impressiveness? Swelled in his chest to see Moran’s face still colored a lovely shade of sickly green. 

“Tickles...” John mumbled as he opened his eyes. 

He blinked up at Sherlock bleary-eyed but smiled a bit. 

“Want me to stop?” Sherlock asked. 

“No...s’nice…” John answered. 

He reached behind him to get his phone and both men winced at the sudden bright light from the screen. John squinted as he scrolled through some texts. 

“What time is it?” Sherlock asked. 

“Little after midnight,” John answered. “Some nap huh?” 

“Indeed,” Sherlock made a sound of acknowledgment as his eyes adjusted to the dark again. “Perhaps I could hire you as a student worker…” 

“What?” John asked. 

“You asked me to stay John,” Sherlock answered. “And I don’t see myself letting you go so easily.” 

“Oh…” Sherlock could hear the smile in John’s voice. 

“If I hire you as a student worker, then we’ll be able to spend time together outside of class without it seeming suspicious,” Sherlock ran his fingers through John’s hair. “I could use an assistant. Grade tests and the likes.” 

“Am I allowed to do that?” John asked. 

“Not for our class no,” Sherlock answered. “But I teach a few logic classes, and criminal studies class as an extracurricular, you could grade the quizzes and tests.” 

“What did you even go to school for?” John asked. Curiosity was laced in his voice. 

“I double minored in psychology and criminal law, with a double major in philosophy and chemistry,” Sherlock answered. “I went to graduate school to get my masters in emphasis on understanding the modern human.” 

“Amazing…” John murmured. “You’ve got the brains and the looks.” 

Sherlock blushed at the compliment and ran his fingers through John’s hair. “You shouldn’t throw such words around so carelessly.” 

“Fraid I’m being honest,” John smiled and leaned in and brushed his lips against Sherlock’s. “You’re just...oh, you’re gorgeous and brilliant.” 

Sherlock shifted a little as John started to climb on top of him and tangled his fingers into his curls. 

“Extraordinary really,” he continued and kissed Sherlock again. “M’always fascinated by you.” 

Sherlock swallowed around the lump suddenly lodged in his throat as the praise washed over him like a crescendo. His cheeks were no doubt red and he was thankful for small miracles that John made no move to turn on the lights. 

_ If only you really knew... _ Sherlock thought bitterly as John settled on top of him. 

“Can you stay a little longer?” John asked. “I promise to keep inflating your ego if you do.” 

Sherlock chuckled and pressed a kiss to the top of John’s head. “I should go...if I stay, then it’ll be a bit difficult to explain my presence in the student dorms.” 

“Private tutoring,” John smirked as he nuzzled him. “Helping me with anatomy.” 

Sherlock laughed and pressed the heel of his palm to his forehead. “God that’s tempting. Where do you suppose we’d start?” 

“I could name the parts of your body.” 

Sherlock could practically see John’s smile in the dark. 

“Start with the frontal, work my way down to the pectoral,” he brushed his fingers over Sherlock’s chest. “Followed by the groin, and finally,” he tangled their feet together “the pedal.” 

“I think you’ve missed the important bits,” Sherlock pouted. 

“Oh?” John asked with a hint of teasing. 

Sherlock smirked and ran his fingers down John’s back to cup his ass. “The gluteal.” 

“See? All the more reason for you to stay,” John groaned as he pushed back into the hands. 

“Next time,” Sherlock promised after a heartbeat. “Come on, up you get.” 

John huffed and rolled off giving Sherlock room to sit up. He twisted this way and that letting out a sigh at the satisfying crack his joints gave. 

“I would invest in a memory foam pad, much better for the back,” Sherlock told him as he pulled on his coat. 

“Is that what you’ve got?” John asked. “You’re bed’s like sleeping on a cloud.”

“Pillow top actually,” Sherlock answered. “Though I’m glad you approve of my mattress.” 

“It helps there’s a handsome bloke who sleeps on top of it too,” John stood up and walked over to Sherlock. “How come you never wear a scarf…” 

“Constricting,” Sherlock answered. “My coat holds up just fine.” 

A thoughtful look crossed John’s face as he reached out to finger the wool fabric of Sherlock’s coat. 

“You’re going to need to let me go at some point,” Sherlock smiled softly. “You’ll get tired of me after another twenty minutes.” 

“No I won’t,” John looked up. 

“You will…” Sherlock said. “Get some sleep.” 

“Only if you do,” John replied. 

“You drive a hard bargain.” Sherlock kissed his forehead as John dropped his hands.

* * *

 

“Love what you’ve done to the place brother mine,” Mycroft mused as he walked into Sherlock’s office.He shut the door behind him before walking over. “Honestly, a man your age should know how to pick up his things properly.” 

“If you’re so put off by my messes, perhaps you shouldn’t clean up after me so often,” Sherlock said. “What are you doing here Mycroft?” 

“I wanted to see how you were settling in. You weren't sending complaining texts, I got worried,” Mycroft collected the stack of books from the chair in front of Sherlock’s desk and set them on the floor as he sat. 

“As you can see, I’m fine,” Sherlock replied. “Don't let the door hit your arse on the way out.” 

“I’m not finished,” Mycroft said. “Irene told me of your little, drink was it?”

“Took her long enough.” Sherlock set the pen aside. “I don’t see how it’s any of your business really. I’m allowed to sleep with whomever I want.” 

“What’s his name Sherlock?” Mycroft asked. 

“None of your business,” Sherlock answered. 

“Don’t be childish. It doesn’t suit you,” Mycroft told him. 

“Me? Be childish? Why Mycroft I am being nothing but a pleasure, you on the end,” Sherlock tsked as he pointed at his brother with his pen. “Mummy would be so displeased if I told her you just barged into my office without so much as a call. Where ever did those manners go?” 

“The same place your sense of morality is residing.” Mycroft gave him a tight-lipped smile. “What is his name Sherlock.” 

“No idea who you’re talking about,” Sherlock answered. “I was as high as a kite, so you’ll forgive me I’m a bit light on the details.” 

“Must I inquire a drug test as well?” Mycroft asked with a raised eyebrow. 

“Oh come off it Mycroft,” Sherlock scoffed. “I’m not stupid. You know me, cigarettes are my only vice. Though we do have a nice four day holiday coming up. What’s the going rate for a nice bit of coke you think?” 

“That’s not funny.”

“I’m not joking.” 

Sherlock stood up and walked to the door. He pulled it open with a dramatic flourish and looked back at his brother. 

“Goodbye Mycroft.”

Mycroft stood to his feet and gripped the handle of his umbrella. "I must remind you brother dear. Big brother is always watching.” 

“You’re right about the big part.” Sherlock flashed him a grin. "I see the diet's failing again."

Mycroft gave him a withering glare as he walked out of the office. Sherlock  shut the door behind him with more force than necessary and collapsed onto his couch throwing an arm over his face. 


	7. It's A Date

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time for our boys to have a little date :)  
> their date is also going to be two parts so enjoy :)  
> Chapters currently unbeta'd

**It's A Date**

“Sherlock, are you listening to me?”

“Not really no.”

Sherlock looked back down at his phone as it buzzed and chuckled as he read over the message from Molly.

**_I’m sorry, did you just say you need help planning a date? -MH_ **

**_Yes -SH_ **

**_Why..? MH_ **

**_Because I intend to ask someone on a date,_ **

**_and I’ve no idea what they might like -SH_ **

**_So if you don’t mind, I’d like ideas -SH_ **

**_Dinner and a movie is always good -MH_ **

Sherlock mentally shook his head as he typed out his reply.

**_BORING!_ **

**_I need something more exciting -SH_ **

“Will you pay attention!” Irene braced her hands on his desk. “Honestly, it’s like speaking to a child.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes and set his phone face down. “Alright fine, what are you talking about?”

“Thank you,” she straightened and crossed her arms over her chest. “Now, we need to set a date.”

“A date?” Sherlock frowned. “Date for what?”

“Our anniversary of course,” she smiled. “Two years this November. At least, that’s what we’ll be telling people. Wonderful isn’t it?”

Sherlock reached for his phone again but she placed her's over his before he could pick it up. She looked at him with a soft smile, but steel in her gaze.

“Sherlock, darling,” she perched on the edge of his desk. “How kind do you think the dean will be when they find out just why you resigned from your previous job? I’m fairly certain professor’s sleeping with their students is heavily frowned upon. So, unless you want that little tidbit to fall into the wrong hands,” she reached forward to fix the collar of his shirt then gripped his chin, “put on your big boy pants junior and pick a damn date.”

“Why don’t you pick the date, and I’ll make sure my calendar is cleared,” Sherlock gave her a tight-lipped smile. “How’s that for being a big boy? Now if that’s all, I’ve got a class to teach.”

“You exhaust me,” she pulled on her coat. “Thank God for Kate.”

Sherlock waved her off and picked up his phone. He leaned back in his chair as he opened the link Molly sent him and raised an eyebrow at the poster that lit up his screen.

“Ooh, now that’s exciting,” he grinned.

He sent Molly a quick thanks and stood up to collect his things and his coat as he left his office.

* * *

 “Would you like to have dinner?” Sherlock asked.

“Pardon?” John blinked. “Dinner?”

“Yes, I’ve been told it’s an enjoyable affair in the right company,” Sherlock answered.

“Are you...are you asking me on a date?” John raised a curious eyebrow as he smiled.

Sherlock looked back down at his laptop as he fought an embarrassed blush. “Forget I said anything. Have you finished grading those quizzes yet?”

“I’d enjoy having dinner with you, and yes, I just finished the last one,” John answered as he capped his pen.

“Is...Saturday night agreeable?” Sherlock asked.

“I’ve got a match in the morning, but yeah, Saturday nights great,” John answered.

Sherlock relaxed and let out the breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. John smiled amusedly as he moved the stack of papers into the ‘graded’ section of Sherlock’s file organizer.

“What would you do if I had said no?” John asked.

“Smoke an entire pack of cigarettes,” Sherlock answered.

“Somehow, I don’t think you’re lying…” John sighed, still smiling, as he stood. “That’s it for me then, guess I’ll see you Saturday night?”

Sherlock reached out and grabbed his hand as he started to walk past and tugged him in for a short kiss. John smiled and leaned in a little more before pulling away.

“Do I get to know what we’re doing?” John asked.

“Nope,” Sherlock grinned. “It’s a surprise.”

“I’m not sure if I should be scared or excited,” John said as he picked up his jacket.

“Definitely excited,” Sherlock assured him. “We can leave from my flat. I’ll expect you say six?”

“Six,” John nodded. “Can’t wait.”

* * *

 “Sherlock, you’re going to wear a hole in the floor if you keep pacing like that,” Mrs. Hudson called upstairs. 

Sherlock turned on his heel as he looked at his watch. Ten minutes ‘til John was due to arrive and he tangled bundle of nerves. He didn’t remember the last time he’d been this nervous, and he was valedictorian (reluctantly) of his graduating class.

“Apologies Mrs. Hudson, you know how much I hate waiting,” he itched for a cigarette but pushed the thought aside quickly. He couldn’t risk sticking his suit up with cigarette smoke.

He looked at his watch just as doorbell went off. He gave himself one last look in the mirror, smoothed his hair back and tried to take his time as he hurried down the stairs to open the door.

“Hi…” John rocked nervously on his heels as Sherlock opened the door.

“Hello…” Sherlock felt as if the air had been punched out of his lungs as he took in John’s appearance.

He wore a black long sleeved button up with a grey waistcoat and matching fitted blazer with a pair of slim black dress pants and black dress shoes.

“Wasn’t sure what the dress code was so I took a bit of a gamble,” John tugged at his sleeve a little nervously.

“You most certainly won,” Sherlock said once he finished committing the look to memory. “Just let me grab my coat and then we can go.”

John nodded and stepped inside while Sherlock turned and took the steps two at a time to reach his flat.

Wallet? Check. Keys? Check. Breath mints? Check. Nerves of steel? Not check.

“Don’t you two make a handsome couple,” Mrs. Hudson smiled as Sherlock walked back downstairs.

“Don’t you have biscuits to bake Mrs. Hudson?” Sherlock asked as he put his coat on and buttoned up.

“I’m going to have words with your mother about your manners,” she shook her head.

“Goodnight Mrs. Hudson,” Sherlock rolled his eyes but gave her a fond look. He turned his attention back to John once she went to her own apartment. “Shall we? I don’t want to miss our reservations.”

“Where are we going?” John asked as he followed Sherlock outside.

“It’s still a surprise,” Sherlock answered as he flagged down a cab. He held the door open for John and climbed in after him. He gave the cabbie the address and leaned back in the seat to get comfortable.

He tried not to think about the first time they had shared a cab together. He could still remember the feeling of John palming him through his pants and the almost blow job.

“Been awhile since we shared a cab together…” John said to break the silence.

“I was just thinking the same thing,” Sherlock replied, with a small smirk. “Perhaps we’ll have a repeat performance.”

“I’m not so easy as to just jump into bed with a man on the first date,” John teased. “I do have morals.”

“Pity,” Sherlock folded his hands in his lap. “I don’t.”

Sherlock was out of the cab first and paid the driver as John got out and shut the door. He straightened his coat as he looked up at the restaurant and gave Sherlock a curious as he stood next to him.

“Very excellent French food,” Sherlock said. “Quiet atmosphere and...private.”

John nodded a little understanding and Sherlock led him into the restaurant. Sherlock had only been once before, a few years previous, but he was pleased to find much hadn’t changed as they followed the maitre d'  to their table.

Their waiter arrived shortly after giving them each a menu, followed by a wine list.

“Do you have a preference?” Sherlock asked John.

“I trust your judgment,” John answered.

Sherlock gave the list a quick scan and closed it with a soft snap. “We’ll start with a bottle of 1985 Chateau la lagune.”

“Of course,” The waiter nodded and walked away to get their wine.

“I’m twenty two...just in case you were wondering,” John said as he set the list aside.

“I suppose I should tell you that I’ll be turning thirty-five this year then,” Sherlock replied with a wry smile.

“So...wow, okay I wasn’t expecting that to be honest,” John admitted. “Thought you were at least in your late twenties…”

Sherlock chuckled. “My ego thanks you.”

The waiter returned and uncorked the bottle, filling the glass with just enough for a sip before handing it to Sherlock for appraisal. Sherlock swirled the drops around the glass a few times, gave an appreciative sniff and nodded.

“It’ll do,” he told the waiter. “We’ll a need a few moments before we order.”

Both glasses were promptly filled and the bottle left to breathe on the table between them. He walked away to let them peruse the menu. Sherlock let his glass sit for a bit and watched John take a tentative sip.

“Do you like it?” He asked.

“It’s...not what I was expecting, but it is good,” he answered and took another sip then set the glass down on the table. “Where’d you learn to do that?”

“My father taught me,” Sherlock answered. “I’ve never picked a wrong bottle of wine because of it.”

“Never?” John raised an eyebrow.

“Never,” Sherlock affirmed as he drank some of his own wine.

“Right then, what do you recommend?” John asked as he picked up his menu.

“From what I remember all of their food is excellent,” Sherlock answered as he skimmed over his own. “We could start with the raviolo unless you’d prefer something else…?” he looked up and found John staring down his menu. “John? Are you alright?”

“What?” John blinked. “Sorry it’s just..uh...bit pricey isn’t it?”

“Ignore it,” Sherlock waved his hand dismissively.

“Are...are you sure?” John asked hesitantly.

“Of course,” Sherlock gave him a soft smile. _Such a difference from...no! Stop it. You will not let him ruin this._ “Order anything you want.”

“How about,” John closed his menu after another glance, “you order for me.”

“Are you sure?” Sherlock asked this time.

“Yep,” John picked up his wine.

Sherlock looked back down at the menu and closed it when the waiter returned.

“Are you ready to order sir?” he asked.

“Yes, we’ll have raviolo of ricotta and baby spinach, herbs butter sauce toasted pine nuts and ballotine of foie gras with fine beans, toasted brioche for starters, and as the main,” here Sherlock pointed to a few of the main dishes and handed the waiter their menus.

“Excellent choices sir,” the waiter took their menus and walked away.

“So I don't know what I get to eat for dinner?” John joked.

“You told me to pick and I did,” Sherlock answered.

“You’re right, you’re right,” John smiled. “So...if you and I are on a date, you know that means we have to ask each other questions of a personal nature.”

“That is proper date etiquette isn’t it?” Sherlock replied. “Alright, you go first.”

“Why a professor?” John asked. “Of all the things to pick…”

Sherlock shrugged. “Perhaps that’s why? Our family assumed I’d either go into politics like my brother or the scientific field like my mother, she was a mathematician, but I was always a bit different. More like my father in some aspects I suppose. Always have to be different…” _Inhuman..._ his mind supplied unhelpfully. “Teaching does seem the odd occupation for me, but I do enjoy it. Having the ability to shape the minds of the future, it’s exhilarating. Better than any high I’ve ever felt.”

“You do get rather into it,” John chuckled.

“Ah…” Sherlock felt himself blush. “You should’ve seen me when I worked at Regents, I used to jump on desks.”

“You’re kidding,” John laughed. “Jump on desks? What mid-lecture?”

“At times yes,” Sherlock admitted. “Much to the amusement of my colleagues.”

They each thanked the waiter as he brought out their starters and refilled their wine glasses.

“My turn,” Sherlock cut into a piece of raviolo. “Why pre-med?”

“I want to help people,” John answered. “Don’t get me wrong, rugby’s great and all, and yeah I could probably make a career out of it, but it’s not exactly a lasting career. One wrong move and I could be out for life. But you know a doctor...it’s a steady job and I uh...I might go into the army after.”

“Really?” Sherlock tried to keep the surprise out of his voice.

John nodded. “Probably going to take the surgeon track…”

“That’s...that’s very noble of you,” Sherlock smiled a bit. “I wouldn’t last a day in the military.”

“Mmm no, no I don’t think so,” John agreed with a teasing smile. “You don’t seem the type to take direct orders.”

“I prefer to give them,” Sherlock winked as he drank some of his wine. “So, you have a sister correct?”

“Bloody tease,” John pouted as Sherlock effortlessly switched the conversation. “Older sister as you pointed out yeah. I’d say we don’t get along much, but sounds like it’d be an understatement compared to you and your brother.”

“And the rest of your family?” Sherlock asked.

“Dad’s still trying to wrap his head around having two gay kids, and my mum’s pretty much a saint when she’s not drinking…” John answered.

Sherlock could tell that wasn’t the whole truth but thought better than to push.

“My parents walked in on me and my first boyfriend when I was sixteen,” Sherlock found himself admitting to ease the tense silence. “In my defense, I told them we were studying, and we were but, we took a break and suffice to say Im no longer allowed to be alone with my partner in my room with the door closed.”

“You’re joking,” John covered his mouth to keep from laughing.

Sherlock shook his head. “Wish I was.”

“What were you doing?” John asked curiously.

“I may have been showing off my excellent oral skills,” Sherlock answered as his cheeks started to color. “I couldn’t look either parent in the eye for at least three months.”

“Jeez,” John gave him a sympathetic smile. “And your parents really won’t let you share a room with anyone you happen to be seeing?”

Sherlock shook his head. “I’d say it wasn’t fair but mummy made sure to impose the rule on my brother as well, so for the first three years of their relationship he and his husband had to sleep in separate rooms or get a hotel. Course they got married so now they can share, but I know for a fact they used to sneak and see each other once everyone was asleep. I’d catch Lestrade either tiptoeing to Mycroft’s room or vice versa.”

“Your parents had to know, no one can do that for three years and not get caught,” John pointed out.

“I’m sure my parents knew but well, they never walked in on Mycroft with a cock halfway down his throat,” Sherlock replied matter of fact.

Sherlock didn’t think his cheeks could get any redder as John covered his mouth to stifle another laugh, though if it kept earning him reactions like that, it was worse a bit of drunken embarrassment.

The conversation came to a short pause as the waiter brought over their main courses. Sherlock had elected to try the fried halibut and ordered the lobster risotto for John. He kept looking up from his own plate every so often at John’s soft exclamations, pleased to see him enjoying the food.

A few times he’d lock eyes with Sherlock and give him an embarrassed smile before going back to his dish.

The bottle of wine was quickly finished between the two of them. John’s cheeks had a permanent flushed look to them as they’d set down their forks and the waiter cleared the plates away.

“Can I interest you gentleman in dessert?” he asked holding out the menu.

Sherlock secretly wished his brought his reading glasses with him as his wine-addled brain tried to focus on the words.

“Ah...the hot chocolate fondant with two spoons and two coffee’s,” Sherlock answered as he gave the menu back.

“Two spoons?” John asked as he drained the rest of his wine.

“We’ll each get a dessert next time,” Sherlock promised. “We’ve still got the entertainment part of the evening left.”

“And what might that be?” John asked.

“I may have had too much wine, but not enough to give away the surprise,” Sherlock answered as the waiter returned.

Sherlock took care of the bill once they’d finished and John had excused himself to use the bathroom and was standing to put on his coat when John returned.

“You didn’t have to go to all that trouble you know,” John said once they were outside. “Would’ve been perfectly fine at a way cheaper place…”

Sherlock smiled as he titled John’s chin up and gave him a kiss. There were still remnants of chocolate and caramel on his breath as John leaned up to return the kiss.

“You’re worth it,” Sherlock told him as they parted. “But, I promise next time will be less expensive.”

“You’re lying,” John smiled as he leaned up for another kiss.

“Just a bit,” Sherlock chuckled.

They shared another kiss, and Sherlock pulled away, lest they get arrested for a bit of public indecency and flagged down another cab.

“Now, for the entertainment,” he grinned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The place Sherlock took John for a date is called Bleeding Heart and is a French restaurant and as for the second part of their date I'll let you all guess where they might be going~


	8. Only You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it's definitely been awhile since my last update, and I can't promise that updates will be fast, I've got a few family things going on right now and as a result my muse has been spotty lately, but I'm going to do my best to try. I've got an outline and I know where I want the story to go. 
> 
> without further delay, the second part of the date!  
> Also currently unbeta'd

“I haven’t been to a circus in ages,” John said. “What made you think about this?”

“I saw a poster for it and thought it would be fun…” Sherlock answered. “You don’t think it’s childish?”

“Are you kidding?” John grinned. “I think this is exciting...What sort of circus is this?”

“Chinese,” Sherlock answered. “Some of the acts mentioned are escapology, and acrobatics...Two tickets under Holmes.”

John looked around as Sherlock collected their tickets and followed after him as they moved into a large room with a circular ring in the middle. He looked down as Sherlock grabbed his hand and smiled as the older man pulled him through the crowd to grab seats in the front row.

John may have moved a little closer as the lights lowered. Their hands were still together, not that he was paying attention to how long they’d been holding hands now.

“Ladies and gentleman,” the lights raised to show an older Chinese woman standing in the center of the ring. “Welcome to the circus.”

John jumped a little startled as the lights were suddenly cut off again, and felt embarrassed as Sherlock ran a thumb over his John’s knuckle.

“Fraid of the dark?” Sherlock teased gently.

“No,” John rolled his eyes. “Just wasn’t expecting it.”

The lights were raised again and this time there was a man tied to a chair with thick rope and blindfolded, with a large crossbow pointed at him and a bag of sand a few feet above a small plate.

“Oh that’s brilliant,” Sherlock murmured.

The matron stabbed the bag of sand with a large flat knife and with a twist, sand began steadily falling onto the plate. John found himself more fascinated with watching Sherlock rather than the man tied to the chair working himself out of his bonds.

Sherlock’s eyes were bouncing between the sand steadily falling onto the plate, and the twine holding the crossbow in place beginning to loosen and rip. The man in the chair continued to struggle, the ropes holding him began to loosen slowly. The lights flickered, and John felt his breath catch in his throat as the twine on the crossbow got thinner and thinner.

There was a collective gasp from the audience as the rope snapped, and the man on the chair rolled as the arrow shot through the air and embedded itself into the back of the chair. The wood split down the middle.

“John?”

John looked over and found Sherlock staring at him with an unreadable expression.  

“That was amazing,” John breathed. “For a second, I almost thought he wasn’t going to make it.”

Sherlock stood as the lights raised and gave John’s hand a small tug. John got up and followed, confused, as Sherlock led him through the throngs of people out of the theatre and outside into the night air.

“Sherlock what are-mmph!”

He was cut off as his back made contact with the wall, Sherlock’s body pressed against his, warm hands cupped his cheeks as chapped lips were kissing his. John reached up and fisted the lapels of Sherlock’s jacket as he started to kiss back and moaned softly into his mouth.

Sherlock pulled away with a sheepish smile and smoothed down the fabric of John’s blazer where he’d rumpled it.

“Apologies…I seem to have lost a bit of self-control,” Sherlock swallowed.

“That was you losing self-control?” John asked with a raised eyebrow.

Sherlock gave a small nod. “I’ve been told I can come on a little strong in certain things and-”

John pressed his finger to Sherlock’s lips, he was suddenly upset, not with Sherlock, he didn’t think he could be upset with Sherlock. No. He was upset with whoever had been there before him.

Even at dinner, he’d noticed it, the way Sherlock would give small hesitations before he’d do or say something. The evident shock when John showed his small discomfort at how pricey the food had been as if he was just used to people ignoring the price tag and getting whatever they wanted with no regard for him.

Sherlock looked concerned at John’s silence and John moved his hand to cup Sherlock’s cheek. “I want to go back to your place.”

“Are you sure?” Sherlock asked.

John nodded and leaned up to give him a soft kiss. “Positive.”

Sherlock held his hand as he led John away from the wall and got them a cab. The air in the vehicle was filled with anticipation of what could happen next. What John was going to say because he knew Sherlock  _knew_ he'd be saying something. Something that required the comforts of the flat. 

John followed Sherlock out of the cab and up to the front door. He could see the nervousness behind Sherlock’s eyes as he unlocked the door and they stepped inside.

“John,” Sherlock turned to face him. “If tonight wasn’t up to your standards, or if you didn’t really enjoy it, I’m sure there something else I could-”

“Tonight was amazing Sherlock,” John reached up to wrap his arms around Sherlock’s neck. “I just, you didn’t have to spend so much money on dinner, and I can’t imagine what those tickets cost you.”

“It was nothing,” Sherlock brushed it off. “So long as you enjoyed yourself.”

“Did you enjoy yourself?” John asked.

“I did,” Sherlock answered.

“You seemed...nervous,” John replied. He played with the curls at the base of Sherlock’s neck. “That I wouldn’t like it, or...enjoy it.”

“In the past, I’ve been told my idea of a date has been...subpar at best…” Sherlock fingered the hem of John’s jacket.

“Whoever told you that, is clearly insane,” John told him. “It also makes me wonder what kind of dates you planned that made him think that if this is what you planned for ours.”

“Oh, you know, nights at the opera, dinner on a private yacht around the river, perhaps a few nights at the orchestra, I’ve season tickets…” Sherlock said dismissively.

“...Season tickets to the orchestra?” John swallowed. “...Are you some secret millionaire or something?”

Sherlock chuckled. “No, just very good at my job.”

“Apparently,” John scratched the back of his neck awkwardly.

“Have I said something wrong?” Sherlock frowned.

“No, no,” John shook his head. “It’s just...if I can be frank, what are you doing with someone like me? I mean...you’re obviously well off, you go to the opera and the orchestra...dinner on yachts. I’m attending college on a rugby scholarship and...I’m not nearly as cultured as you are. What are you doing with someone like me?”

“I like you,” Sherlock answered. “You’re...different than most of the people I’ve been with.”

“Different how?” John asked.

“I think...drinks are in order,” Sherlock answered as he stepped back. “I've got a lovely bottle of red from my mother she sent as a present for my new job.”

“Sherlock…” John frowned at the brush off.

“Drinks,” Sherlock repeated as he turned and started to walk upstairs.

John sighed but followed after him. Sherlock shut the door behind them and walked to the kitchen while John took off his coat and made himself comfortable on the couch. Sherlock returned with two glasses and the unopened bottle.

“Sherlock, please don’t keep something from me again,” John tried again. “Whatever it is, I’m sure it’s not-”

“My parents think that I resigned from my former position because I didn’t want a job that had been handed down to me,” Sherlock interrupted as he opened the bottle of wine and set in on the coffee table.

John closed his mouth and watched Sherlock pour their glasses after a moment's silence. He took the offered glass and waited for Sherlock to speak again.

“The reason I’ve told them this lie is because I was forced to resign after it came to light that I slept with one of my students. I knew the risk, and I broke the rules because I thought he had been different. A...a kindred spirit if you would. We held the same interest, we could talk for hours on the complexity of humanity, good and evil...and nothing at all….”

There was a wistful smile on Sherlock’s face but it turned bitter as he drank his wine. “But he wasn’t different. He...blackmailed me at the end of the semester, and when I wouldn’t comply he went to the school board. After a sizeable donation both to the school, and to his bank account, I ‘resigned’...and Irene is becoming my girlfriend…” he finished as he looked at John. “So when I say you’re different John. I mean it in the most positive way I am able to express. Maybe it’s why I tried to pursue you, even though I could get caught, or you could turn out to just be using me…I...l like being with you John, despite the risks…”

“Sherlock…” John set his glass aside and stood up.

He walked around the coffee table to stand in front of the other man and took the empty glass to set it next to his.

“I think...I think you two were kindred spirits, and god that makes me a little jealous,” John admitted as he took Sherlock’s hands. “But, he hurt you. I can see it in your eyes.”

“No one’s without their battle scars…” Sherlock gave a small shrug. “Some are just on the inside instead of the out.”

“Doesn’t matter,” John reached up and cupped Sherlock’s face. “I don’t...we don’t know how long we’ll have together, but you and I? We’re together, and…-”

“That’s all that matters?” Sherlock interrupted softly.

John nodded. “I know it’s not as sophisticated as what you might say, but it’s true isn’t it?”

Sherlock smiled and reached up to put his hand over John’s. “I don’t need sophistication John...I...I just need you.” 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be a bit longer and more John in his rugby uniform and Sherlock definitely having a few ideas


	9. Chapter 9: Achilles Heel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two Chapters in almost two weeks? You bet!

**Achilles Heel**

“John, I’ve seen my death.” 

John rolled his eyes and lifted his textbook from his lap as Sherlock half collapsed half sagged onto the couch so his head was resting in John’s lap. 

“Is it death by over dramatics?” John asked. 

“Death by mediocre papers. I swear if I read one more paper about Agape and how it translates to small communities and the world, I am going to die,” Sherlock answered. He dropped the current paper onto the floor and covered his face with his hands. “I need a cigarette.” 

John closed his textbook and ran his fingers through Sherlock’s hair. “They can’t be that bad.” 

“They’re cringe-worthy,” Sherlock replied. “What are you doing?” 

He rolled over and tried to peer at the underside of John’s textbook. 

“It’s for my human anatomy class, we’ve been assigned case studies. I’ve got to diagnose and treat a patient before they die but I’m having trouble figuring out what all the symptoms are pointing to,” John answered. 

“Oh?” Sherlock raised an eyebrow. He glanced at the paper propped up on the other side of the textbook. 

“You can see it  _ after  _ I’ve turned in the assignment,” John told him as he tucked the paper between the pages. 

Sherlock pouted. 

John rolled his eyes again and put the textbook aside as he leaned back against the couch. Sherlock flopped down onto his back and reached around to drop John’s free hand onto his head. John chuckled and ran his fingers through it softly in a petting motion. 

“You don’t have a game this weekend right?” Sherlock asked as he took off his glasses to massage the bridge of his nose. 

“The school we were scheduled to play got hit with a massive blizzard so no game, and no practice for the weekend. Why?” John looked down at him. 

“A friend of mine is throwing a Halloween Party Saturday night, if you’re not doing anything, I thought you might like to accompany me,” Sherlock answered. “It’s nothing huge mind you, just a few friends from Uni, they’ll be drinks and food of course.” 

John was trying to process the idea of Sherlock at a Halloween party and Sherlock started to sit up. 

“Nevermind, forget I said anything,” he bent over to pick up the papers from the floor and John grabbed his elbow. 

“Sorry, just, my imagination went wild at the idea of you at a party...I’d be happy to go with you it's just...I don’t exactly have a costume,” John bit his lip. “I didn’t exactly factor Halloween into my agenda after what happened with…” he didn’t finish the thought and dropped his hand from Sherlock’s elbow. 

Sherlock reached over and squeezed his knee gently. “If you don’t want to go, it’s really alright.” 

“No,” John shook his head. “I can’t keep letting him ruin everything I like. Me not having a costume just means you can help me find one unless you’d prefer it to be a surprise.” 

“While I did enjoy the nice little surprise from our date, I’d much rather pick out a costume with you, maybe we could even...no,” Sherlock shuddered and John raised an eyebrow. 

“We could even what?” John asked. 

“I almost entertained the idea of a couple’s costume,” Sherlock shuddered again. “That is one cliche I will never let happen.” 

John laughed. “That’s so cheesy! And they’re all either slutty or so childish...I can’t persuade you even a tiny bit?” 

“Not a chance in hell Watson,” Sherlock told him firmly. “At least...Not this year.” 

“So I’ve got until next year to convince you?” John joked. He bit his lip at the implication and mentally cursed himself, but Sherlock smiled. 

“Better make it a convincing argument, I’m not easily swayed,” he replied. “I’ve got a thing on Friday that I can’t get away from, so why don’t we go costume hunting on Saturday afternoon? And since it is a party, you could stay over maybe til Monday since there are no classes?.” 

“So...like a sleepover?” John asked as he started to pack up his books. 

“Yes,” Sherlock answered. 

“Sounds great,” John smiled. “Hopefully you’ll still be alive by then.” 

“One can only hope,” Sherlock leaned back against the couch. “Good luck with that case study.” 

“You’ve figured it out already haven’t you?” John asked. 

“Yep,” he answered. 

“Arsehole,” John muttered as he walked out of the office. “Oh, shit sorry about that.” He took a step back and reached out to steady the young woman he’d accidentally bumped into. 

“No harm done,” she smiled. “Is this professor Holmes office?” 

“Yeah, but be warned, he’s grading papers,” John answered. 

“Thanks, and thanks for the warning.” 

John gave her a brief smile before continuing his way down the hall. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his coat and tried not to look as nervous as he felt. He’d be spending just about the entire weekend with Sherlock. Which meant sex. Which meant sex with Sherlock. 

They hadn’t really had sex since...well, since the first night they met, and that was almost a month and a half ago. They’d done other things, mostly blow jobs, he still thought about the one Sherlock gave him in the locker room, but no sex. 

“Pull yourself together Watson,” he scolded himself. “The only reason the two of you haven’t had sex is because any time you try there’s a risk of being caught.” 

He ran a hand through his hair as he walked into the lecture hall for his next class. “I’m just overthinking things. There’s no need to be nervous.”

* * *

 

Saturday came far too quickly and did nothing to calm John’s nerves as he rode the cab to 221b Baker St. He’d packed and repacked his duffel bag four times before he was satisfied, tripled checked that he had money for a cab, stalled getting a cab for twenty minutes before he told himself to man up and get going. 

“Oh, John! You get handsomer every time I see you,” Mrs. Hudson greeted as she ushered him in. “Sherlock’s been in such a tizzy this morning. I don’t think I’ve ever heard him up before nine on a Saturday morning.” 

She made a little shoo shoo motion up the stairs and John walked up to the door. He raised his hand to knock only for the door to swing open. Sherlock stood in the doorway, clad in his light blue dressing gown, sleep pants and no shirt. 

“Morning…” John let his eyes linger on the older man’s bare chest. 

“Mrs. Hudson if you’d be so kind as to bring up some tea and biscuits and stop spying,” Sherlock called downstairs. 

“I’m your landlady Sherlock. Not your housekeeper,” she called back. 

“She says that every time,” Sherlock said as he grabbed John by the strap of his duffel bag and pulled him into the flat. 

“You cleaned,” John noted as he looked around the room. 

“Er...yes…” Sherlock shut the door. “I couldn’t sleep after last night so I spent the bulk of it cleaning….don’t look in the freezer by the way.” 

“Why? Have you got eyeballs in there or something?” John joked. 

“Fingers, actually,” Sherlock answered. “It’s an experiment I’m working on.” 

“Fingers…” John repeated. “In your freezer?” 

“Yes,” Sherlock nodded. 

“I both want to know why but I also don’t want to know why at the same time,” John said with a small chuckle. 

“Just trying to prove a point to this weasel that works with my brother’s husband,” Sherlock waved his hand dismissively. “Why don’t you go put your bag in the bedroom....” 

John nodded and carried his duffel to the bedroom. He was a little relieved that while the bed was made, the rest of the room was still a little disorganized. He left it on the floor and walked back to the front room just as Mrs. Hudson was setting a tray of biscuits and tea on the coffee table. 

“Don’t forget, I’m going to my sisters this evening and I won’t be back until Tuesday,” She told Sherlock. “You’ll be on your own.” 

“Nonsense,” Sherlock scoffed as he picked up a biscuit. “John will be here. We’ll be fine. Won’t we John?” 

“Yeah, I’ll force feed him if I have to,” John told him. 

“Just be careful,” she gave them both a knowing smile as she walked out of the flat. 

Sherlock opened the window and leaned against the wall as he took out a pack of cigarettes and lit one. John took off his coat, finally, and sat down on the couch before helping himself to a few biscuits. 

“I’m glad you agreed to come over,” Sherlock looked over after blowing smoke towards the window. 

“Well knowing Mrs. Hudson’s leaving you alone for the weekend, I’m starting to wonder if you invited me over to be a babysitter,” John joked. 

“I invited you because we’d be  _ alone _ for the next three days,” Sherlock answered. “Unless of course...you don’t want to be alone…”

“I uh...I like being alone with you, and uh...it’s nice not worrying about whether or not someone’s going to walk in on us at any minute,” John replied. “Assuming we’ll be doing things that are best done alone…” 

Sherlock put out his cigarette and walked over to stand in front of John. He titled John’s chin up as he leaned down to kiss him. John leaned into, letting his eyes close as he grabbed Sherlock’s robe. 

“The implication I hope we’re both talking about is sex, in which case I plan to have you in various places of this flat, in various positions over the course of three days and two nights,” Sherlock smirked as he pulled away. “Does that sound agreeable?” 

“When do we start?” John licked his lips. 

Sherlock hooked his fingers in the waistband of his sleep pants. “I rather thought with breakfast.” 

John snorted at the obvious, and kinda terrible blow job joke. “Are you saying I need more vitamin S in my diet?” Okay, _that one_ was really terrible. He slid to the floor as Sherlock took a small step back to give him more room.  He reached up and stroked the outline of his cock through the soft pants and looked up to see Sherlock’s eyes flutter at the feeling. 

“Loads more,” Sherlock purred.

* * *

 

“Sherlock, maybe I shouldn’t go,” John crossed his arms over his chest as they rode the elevator. 

“Nonsense, you’re my date and I already told Molly I was bringing someone,” Sherlock replied. “If you’re worried about what they’re going to think, I can assure you, they’ll all be too drunk to care.” 

“But you said Molly was a close friend, she might think I’m like your ex…” John frowned. 

“You are nothing like my ex,” Sherlock stated. “You are so much better...and he could never have pulled off this costume like you can.” 

John rolled his eyes. “I’m freezing my nuts off here….How come you got to dress up as a pirate and I had to dress up like some greek dude?”

“You’re dressed like the most handsome, and strongest warrior from Greek Mythology, the reason I picked that isn’t  _ that _ hard to decipher. I’ll be sure to help you warm up later,” Sherlock winked as the elevator doors slid open. He took John’s hand and led him down the short hall to an apartment and knocked on the door. 

“Will you leave the pirate costume on? I’ll let you plunder my booty,” John smiled. 

“That was terrible,” Sherlock told him. “And as I plan to get exceedingly drunk, I will be using that when I try to seduce into bed.” 

“Sherlock!” A young woman smiled as she opened the door. She had to stand on her tiptoes to wrap her arms around his neck. She was dressed as a Playboy Bunny and winked at John over Sherlock’s shoulder.  “And who’s this? He’s cuter than the last bloke you dated. Whatever happened to him? Jim right?” 

“We broke up,” Sherlock answered as he pulled John closer. “This is John. And he is cute and  _ better  _ than Jim. John, this is Janine, we met in grad school.” 

“Nice to meet you,” John smiled. 

“Come in come in, Molly’s working on drinks,” Janine pulled them both into the apartment and shut the door. 

“She seems nice, ” John said as she walked off. 

“Don’t let the act fool you, one wrong move and she will make sure you know it,” Sherlock told him. “Learned that mistake the hard way.” 

“Sherlock, and Sherlock’s plus one,” another young woman said as she walked over. “When I got your message this morning I didn’t think you were being serious.” 

“Molly this is John. John this is Molly. We met during our undergrad years,” Sherlock introduced. “She is a close friend of mine and is not afraid to call me out when I’m acting like a shit.” 

“Not that he ever listens,” Molly said. “I should warn you, Anderson’s supposed to be showing up a little later.” 

“Ugh, Anderson,” Sherlock wrinkled his nose. “Why did you invite him?”

“Because I invited a few people from NSY,” Molly answered. “You don’t have to talk him.” 

“I wasn’t planning on talking to him,” Sherlock pointed out. 

John looked around and rocked on his heels a little as he looked as he looked around the room. There orange and black lights giving the room a soft glowing look. A few plastic bats and various Halloween decorations. A few carved pumpkins sat in the windowsill. 

“I’m going to go and get a drink,” John said as he took a step back. “And you’re not listening…” he walked over to a table filled with various snacks and finger foods and picked up one of the orange colored drinks. 

“Achilles, you let Sherlock pick your costume.” 

John turned and saw an older man dressed as a police officer. He had one of the green colored drinks and a handful of candy. 

“What makes you think I didn’t pick it?” John asked. 

“Because Sherlock picks everything with meaning in mind,” the man answered. “I’m Greg, though Sherlock calls me Lestrade.” 

“I’m John,” he replied. “How uh...how do you know Sherlock?” 

“I’m his brother in law,” Lestrade answered. 

John coughed. “You’re his brother in law?... As in married to his….?”

“His older brother,” Lestrade answered. “Never comes to these things though, so you’re safe.” 

“Safe...right…” John downed the rest of his drink and reached for another glass. 

“Ah, John, I see you’ve met my brother’s little spy,” Sherlock said as he walked over. “Craig. Nice to see you.” 

Lestrade rolled his eyes. “I’m not doing this with you Sherlock. You know my name. We all know you know my name. It’s not funny anymore. And I’m not spying on you. Molly invited me.” 

“Of course she did,” Sherlock reached for a drink. “Why didn’t you wear a costume?” 

“I am wearing a costume,” Lestrade said. “I’m an American police officer. There is a difference.” 

“Well yes, you’re far more competent,” Sherlock mused. 

“Sherlock, be nice,” John nudged him. 

“He knows I’m just kidding...ish,” Sherlock said. “Relax John, have another drink. Have two, I’m already on my fourth.” 

“Fourth? We just got here,” John pointed out. 

Sherlock held up the flask and gave it a small shake. “I did dress as a pirate for a reason.” 

“So you could drunk faster?” John asked. 

“Well I can’t get high, something tells me you’d frown on that…” Sherlock answered. “Shit, it’s Anderson. I was never here.” 

John watched the man grab another drink and with a flick of extension went off to talk to another group of men in the corner. 

“...He was joking about getting high right?” John asked as he looked Lestrade. 

“Would it make you feel better if I lied?” Lestrade answered. 

“No, I don’t think so,” John shook his head and picked up a piece of chocolate.

* * *

 

“Sherlock’s going to wonder where you are,” Molly said as she joined John on the balcony. “Be a shame if he lost track of his student.” 

“You know?” John asked. 

“I know enough,” she answered. “He brought me to the school's homecoming game. You’re very good.” 

“Thanks,” John smiled a little. “So...are you giving me a shovel talk? Because I already met his brother-law, who happens to work for NSY and Sherlock made no mention of that whatsoever.” He sighed. “I feel so...out of my depth here. It’s like a switch has been turned on or off in his brain.” 

“Part of that is mainly alcohol,” Molly pointed out. “The other part just means he’s comfortable enough to act that way. It took him an entire year and a half to act like that around me and we had the bulk of classes together.” 

“So, what...that’s normal Sherlock?” John asked. 

“I don’t think Sherlock can be classified as Normal,” Molly answered. 

They both let out a small laugh and John nodded in agreement. “There’s just so much I don’t know about him, all I’ve had is Professor Holmes...but this is…” 

“This is Sherlock Holmes in love,” Molly finished. 

“I wouldn’t go that far….” John started to protest. 

“Trust me, the only other time I’ve seen him like this was with his boyfriend at school. And he never acted like this with Jim if anything, he was a bit...well, he tried too hard.” 

“He told me he thought they were kindred spirits,” John said. He wanted to ask about the boyfriend from school but she didn't name him...

“They probably were,” Molly replied. “But, I’ve known Sherlock for a long time and he loves you, or he’s at least starting to, and you probably feel the same way about him. He may not realize it, or if he does, he may not say it out loud, but it’s the little things.” 

“The little things?” John asked. 

“John!” Sherlock opened the door to the balcony. “Molly, lovely party, I’ve successfully avoided Andersson, and threw up in that plastic plant thing. It was a terrible decoration, you can thank me later.” 

“Oh, Sherlock,” Molly made a face. “My neighbor got me that.” 

“It was terrible, I’ll get you one for your birthday,” Sherlock waved his hand dismissively. The makeup to go with his costume had started to smear, he looked more like a racoon then a pirate nd he’d lost his coat and his hat along the way. 

“I came out for a reason,” Sherlock added as he frowned. 

“To say goodnight and leave?” John offered. 

“No, no that wans’t it,” Sherlock shook his head. “It was to tell Molly I threw up in her plant, Janine passed out in the bathtub, then say goodnight and leave...May need your help getting to the cab though…” 

“You are so drunk,” John laughed as he walked over. 

Sherlock scoffed. “The room is hardly spinning.” 

“Do you need some help getting him to the cab?” Molly asked. 

“No, I’ll manage,” John answered. “It was really nice meeting you Molly and thanks for not giving me a shovel talk.” 

“Not yet anyway,” she joked. 

“Come on then,” John wrapped an arm around Sherlock’s waist. “One foot in the front of the other.” 

“I haven’t forgotten how to walk John,” Sherlock rolled his eyes. 

After a few trips, a hand down his, well his tunic, and a ‘No Sherlock I will not make out with you, your breath smells like beer and puke’ the older man was sulking on the other side of the cab with his arms crossed over his chest and a pout.   John paid the cab driver, apologized for Sherlock almost puking again, and spent another twenty minutes getting Sherlock upstairs to his flat. 

“John, I really want to plunder your booty, but I think I’m too drunk,” Sherlock said as John got him to sit on the edge of the bathtub. 

“You don’t say?” John grabbed a small flannel from under the sink and wet it with warm water. 

Sherlock tilted his face up and John cupped Sherlock’s chin as he started to clean the makeup off of his skin. 

“Should’ve dressed you like Adonis,” Sherlock hummed. 

“Did Adonis wear clothes?” John asked. “Isn’t he usually depicted naked?” 

“Exactly,” Sherlock grinned. 

John bit his lip. “I was talking to Lestrade-” 

“Greg. Goodman,” Sherlock nodded. 

“And he mentioned that you always picked a costume because of a certain meaning…” John turned to rinse the flannel in the sink. “Why’d you pick Achilles?” 

“You remind me of him,” Sherlock answered. 

John held out the toothbrush to Sherlock and the older man stood up. John left him alone and walked to the bedroom to grab a change of clothes from his duffel bag and started to undo all the buttons. 

“Now I’m even more positive that I should’ve gone with Adonis,” Sherlock said from the doorway. He walked over and titled John’s chin up to kiss him. 

“Minty,” John chuckled. “M’gonna go get cleaned up.” 

He stepped around Sherlock and went to the bathroom to finish changing and washed his face, and brushed his teeth before going back. He stopped in the doorway when he saw Sherlock passed out on the bed.   He grabbed the blanket as he got in on the other side and pulled it up to cover them, then leaned over and kissed Sherlock’s cheek. 

“Night Sherlock.” 

Sherlock rolled over and wrapped an arm around him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A gold star to whoever can guess why Sherlock picked out John's Costume and what he may have made his ex dress as~


End file.
